sophistication bass

Pinky out.

-A.

love and thievery

Love:

Nate Taylor bringing a little sticker love to his tying bench... as well as bringing some light to:

Thievery:

Blatant.

GrümpieGills, take some advise from your forum brother gofindyourowndamnfish and gofindyourowndamnlogo.

-Alex who understands that FGFF throws out some awesome and if you can't bring your own awesome then you will just have to be less awesome.

'bout damn time

I rolled into the deserted parking lot at 2:05PM, the lesbians long gone. The sun, aware of my return, had run away to hide behind the thick, daunting thunderheads. Within five minutes of my first oar stroke the deluge began.

The wind screamed at the water and powerful rain beat dirt to mud as lightening raped the canyon. The fat drops which found their mark slid harmlessly off gortex. I had come prepared for this fight, ready to wait it out and let the heavy puncher wear itself down.

After thirty-five minutes I emerged from cover with a perfection-looped frog and my game face on as the sky lowered and a medium precipitation set in for the full twelve rounds, but this time the final bell would sound the victory of the perpetual underdog.

Today, I would find, the slimy bastards were hungry. Very hungry.

'Bout damn time.

This fish jumped a foot and a half above the surface to eat my frog, which was stuck in some tules. Thanks for the assist, (and for Maxima 20lb fluorocarbon).

It's amazing the difference a little raise in water level can engender.

-Alex who loves him some rain-soaked hot frog-on-lip slammin' topwater LMB action.

sympathy fish

The wind laughed through the grass and the sun convulsed as I repeatedly punched it in the back of it's stupid yellow head. The tall weeds giving me total privacy from the lesbian couple camped in the small dirt parking lot. Little golden eyes looked on in terror from the surface muck but said nothing. I leaned back and caught my breath before walking to the truck and inflating my pontoon boat.

Two hours prior I had been staring into the inky darkness of my bedroom ceiling when I had a thought: I could just go now... I blinked and felt what little potential there had been for sleep recede like a bastard wave. I got up and packed the truck.

I had planned to fish the afternoon/evening, but instead found my self standing in line at a gas station convenience store at 4:35AM listening to the weary-eyed clerk explain to the prostitute in front of me that they had no public restrooms, and she would have to wash the semen stains out of her shirt somewhere else.

I asked her if she wanted to go fishing. She said she didn't know what that meant but it would cost fifty dollars. I didn't have fifty dollars so I bought my gallon of water and left.

The morning bite should have been better. It would have been better, I am sure, if I weren't such a stubborn prick.

"Look that that frog, you little sonsabitches!" I screamed. "You should want to eat that. You should need to eat that. Look how awesomely it walks weedlessly around on the muck. What's wrong with you little slimy bastards?" They didn't seem to care and for a brief moment I thought about tying on a beadhead bugger, but my ego threw up a little in my mouth and I swallowed it back with a sip of turkey.

The morning took pitty on my pathetic face and gave me one sympathy fish which reluctantly slurped a small foam popper between the shadows and looked at me with hatred while I pushed the steel out of his lip.

The wind shit-talked through the tall trees and the sun glowed unconscious in a small clearing behind the tall weeds. I rowed back to the truck in shame.

I met an old man with a 4wt in the parking lot and lied to his face with a smile and gave him a foam popper.

-Alex who still hasn't learned his lesson.

Shelter Island... I am coming

5 more days until Dad and I arrive at Shelter Island.
Downrigging of the boat during the day.
Fly fishing the evening.

More to come...

Something I think you should know...

Almost all of the carp I caught in Denver were on flies tied with Kieth's Free Range dubbing.

In Rust Brown and Yellow Mustard.

Quality.

-Alex who is still trying to convince the lot that I didn't actually catch my caprs on crisco rolled in oatmeal or dog food.

Carp Slammed 2011

“Carpin’ is hard.” – Michael Gracie

“This shit is easy.” – Nate Taylor

“It’s all about the beat.” – Trevor Tanner

August 28th 2011, 12:20AM
I wouldn’t say that Bruce Smithhammer and I ran from the uniformed officer in the lobby of the Hyatt hotel but we did walk fairly quickly toward the glass revolving doors with a I-don’t-know-that-guy look on our faces as Gracie retrieved the line, reel, and fly rod from the polished tile floor. The Bombay martini in the Peaks Lounge seemed to have weakened Will’s resolve, but we weren’t going to let him change his mind. You bought this ticket, my friend.

No tying instructions necessary

I hate waking up early except for when I'm fishing, having drank two cups of coffee to shake off the previous night's rum and being in an early morning/fishing frame of mind. I decided to park my ass in front of the vise instead of going back to bead. The fly I hold in my hand and pretend to offer my eighty-five pound land manatee of a bulldog is a dog food pattern I made with some foam and a generic size 6 hook. I got the idea while carp fishing with Kyle, he'd throw out a handful of dry dog food and then cast into the same area, and soon the carp were rolling on the very un-natural dog food hatch, but neither of us had a fly that was close enough to match the "hatch" so here it is. As for those who would make the argument that chumming and fly fishing should never be mixed, you are already breaking tradition by fishing for carp, and I don't know about you, but when I break something, I like to break the shit out of it. It's a side effect of growing up listening to Gwar and Crowbar.

Aaron, who is sleep deprived and killing time.