You get more whether you like it or not

Videoness edit by Rick Mikesell of Trouts.

-Alex who knows you know that the fish of 2:23 is pure awesomeness.

AV overloaded.

Three days =
Seventy-two hours =
Four thousand, three hundred and twenty minutes =
Two hundred and fifty-nine thousand, two hundred seconds of my life that I was not paying attention.

I don't know how much longer I can go on.

Baby Jesus help me.

Yep. Still thinking about it.

-A

Port Sulphur, In Some Particular Order of Epicness

Ziiiip. Push. Pause.

The sound of the wrapped push-pole reminded Alex of a guiro as it slid through the guide’s gloved hands.

Ziiiip. Push. Pause.

The boat crept along through stained water near the bank where birds and small creatures watched suspiciously. Alex removed his sunglasses and squinted into the glare as he wiped water spots from his lenses with the tail of his shirt. There were small faded purple stains on the yellow/green fabric. Fish blood. Why did it turn purple? He didn’t know. Those bonitos always seemed to bleed but he liked the stains. They added legitimacy to the garment. He snugged the glasses back on his face and looked back over his left shoulder at the man on the poling platform.

 Ziiiip. Push. Pause.

Shane Mayfield stood above the outboard and stared at the clouds. “Burn off, you mothers,” he said again. The sun’s rays snuck through the grey checkerboard, brightening the landscape and briefly illumination the muddy shallow bottom before being once again blocked by the hanging vapor.

Something unseen ran from the boat leaving little swirls of mud hanging in the water. Cody pointed.

“Sheepshead,” Shane said, and again turned his attention toward the sky. “C’mon you mothers. Burn off.”

Alex stood on the casting platform and stared at gray reflections on the brackish water.

Two days. How long is that? Can you build a relationship with a landscape in 48 hours? Is a three-night -stand getting serious? Will she expect you to call? Come on, baby. Let me see what you got under that blue dress in that stained water. We’re just gonna pole around your marsh for a while, take a little look-see. No harm in that, is there?

Just like Alex, I too can be a winner

My post to Field and Stream, Has won me a "Little Red Fly Fishing Book" due to my non-fear of self exposure!

And this may hurt your eyes.

-Kyle

more teasage

Because I didn't do shit today, you will just have to wait longer. But here is a little something to tide you over.

 You can also look at this.

-A

soon: a post.

-A

BRING THE PAIN!

I know little of hunting, let alone Bow Hunting.

I know your basics;

-Be quiet
-Use your safety
-Bring Ammo
-Don't shoot your buddy
-Don't hunt with Cheney.

Rusty Ulmer (my soon to be father in law), along with his brother Randy, are both very well known bow hunters. Rusty, after many years of bow hunting has developed a new broad head that will be taking the market by storm. The new action from this broad head and his ideas have made this one of a kind and possibly the last way to make a fully functional broad head. Sometimes as Fly Fishermen we have to practice with the same line that we plan on fishing with for our next big trip, so why would you not practice with the same broad head? Well you wouldn't until now, now you don't have to damage your blades, or worry about not having a tuned head in your arrow due to the thoughts of a man who loves his hunting. But that is not all of it, the design to cause more damage to your target, whether the arrow gets pushed in deeper to the animal or it begins to come out this will make for a faster kill.
I cant go into too much detail, because I don't know enough about bow hunting to fully understand this new product that Rusty has decided to collaborate with the fellas at Trophy Taker .

More details please check out this video for Ulmer Edge, taken from the 2012 ATA show in Ohio.
This will explain more than I can.



It just looks meaner than hell. -Kyle

Shake the dust off.

"The Red Drum (Sciaenops ocellatus), also known as Channel Bass, Redfish, Spottail Bass or simply Reds, is a game fish that is found in the Atlantic Ocean from Massachusetts to Florida and in the Gulf of Mexico from Florida to Northern Mexico.^"

Get Some.

delicious murder

The white truffle hid in the cool red folds. The garlic was angry and prowling and the olive oil made traction impossible. Absolutely no footing at all. The elk was long dead and the ectomycorrhizal fruiting body was sure to follow.

There was a low hum in the dim evening light that was felt more than heard. Muffled voices mumbled intoxicated through the wall. Smoke swirled around the patio through the sliding door.

A man appeared from the living room and walked to the refrigerator and removed a bottle of beer. Another man, in a camoflage baseball hat moved over to the plastic container and loomed above. The man with the beer stepped up beside and pointed a proud finger towards the warming flesh.

"Yeah?"
"Yeah."

He took a pull from the bottle and wiped his mouth on his arm and nodded. "Yeah."

A third man stepped into the room to join the others, knowing the time was close at hand.

The truffle closed it's eyes and shuddered, remembering the screams of the tomatoes when the door was slammed on the metal cylinder, their steaming lifeless eyes as they were dumped unceremoniously into the mixing bowl. The poor, innocent potatoes; their skin sliced from their bodies one dreadful howling slice at a time till they bled-out sticky on the white counter just to be dumped half-dead into the boiling liquid. At least the broccoli had been quick; a merciful decapitation.

A browning banana on the edge of the microwave looked down with sad, beaten eyes.

There was a grinding noise and the plate was lifted from the counter. They were moving toward the smoke. The chives cried out as the lid opened and the fire rolled and howled. The yellow peppers were stubborn and resolute, their faces unreadable as they were placed one by one on the hot steel with a sickening sizzle.

The garlic panicked.

The meat fell with a slap. The pain was instant and unbearable. The truffle choked through a scream into the smoke as the man with the beer placed another bleeding slab on the grill. The coals hissed in anger and flames flashed in terrible chaos. The truffle could take no more. The last thing it saw before losing consciousness was the face of the man in the camouflage baseball hat floating in the darkening twilight.

He was smiling.

-Alex who likes his death rare, please.