Tuesday, December 31, 2013

Upward Towards Whatever

I think I can feel something coming. There seems to be an anticipatory nature to my thoughts and movements. Over the last year I have seen a sea-change, but where the roles of form and substance were reversed; the physical transformed while the substance for the most part remained the same. But I can't help but marvel, usually within the company of alcohol, at the significant impact the littlest things can have on ones outlook as well as the clarity of the mind's eye regarding the future. An eavesdropped conversation, a photograph, a sunrise that would have been better shared, or a sunset that would have been better alone. But all of this working towards what? Of that, dear friend, I seem to be unsure and it feels like most important part of all.

2013 was as important of a year as any, but it seems, looking back, as if it were more of a landing within a staircase; a step but also a means of changing directions or navigating obstacles, held to the previous and next by the risers of the obligatory New Year's Celebrations, and being just as mysterious and necessary as any of the others in its role leading us upward towards whatever.

While these steps can be counted, with defined edges, the lives held within are imprecise, unfixed, runny.

Sarah Connor said there is no fate but what we make for ourselves, and I think sometimes it is easy to forget while being carried by the current of our lives that we have the ability to swim within that current, to change our position within that flow. Albeit sometimes the slightest repositioning can feel like an impossibility due to the perceived strength necessary to achieve the movement, which is usually just our bullshit fears getting in the way of progress. Remember that. (Also, always remember to stretch before strenuous life repositioning )

We consists of being born, doing lots of in-the-long-run seemingly meaningless things, then dying. Piece of cake. So tonight, as we lift our collective feet to the next step on the stairway of physical existence let us say a toast and be happy, because tomorrow you will have a headache and none of this shit will matter.

-Alex, stroking towards greatness.

What the hell?

Wednesday, December 25, 2013

Never in Theatres!

Merry Christmas.

Thursday, December 19, 2013

Lists and maps and picked guide brains in full 4-color glory, oh my!

In the introduction to this book, Lefty Kreh begins by saying, "Tailwaters are the salvation of fly fishing." It would stand to reason, then, that if you feel the need to be saved, and you would like to know where to go, have a detailed and labeled map of the area, and have a local guide tell you what to use and how for maximum fishyness, then this handsome 272-page, full color softcover is what you are looking for.

Divided by region, each tailwater (actual number is 56! yay!) has a great map and the write-up is the work of a local guide, so you can be sure that the knowledge is sound. (Although I know attaining true G14-Classified Super Secret guide insight still entails multiple 30-packs and a sustained proven trust level higher than the standard boat fare, and even then if they are true to their craft you will only get a partial idea, and that is just the way it goes and the way it should be.) Each chapter also includes "contact information for local fly shops, outfitters, and lodges, along with suggested best bars, restaurants, hotels, campgrounds, and emergency medical services." But seriously- the maps...bacon-savers.

The Gunns are good people. I am always treated like family when I stay at their lodge up at the Ferry. This, truly, is a very nice book with lots of good knowledge that can be used on all waters, really. It would look damn good on a coffee table, too. I was given a copy in exchange for talking about it here, but I think we have known each other long enough for you to understand that I would never lead you astray for personal gain. Probably. I think. Either way, if you buy this book and feel like anything I have said here is bullshit, drop me a line and we can talk about how you need a hobby.


Friday, December 06, 2013

Cue the lightning bolt

And he did speaketh unto his peoples, "read thyself these words, for they are total awesome sauce."

Pulp Fly: Volume Three
Introduction by Michael Gracie
Erin Block
Alex Landeen
Pete McDonald
Miles Nolte
Tom Reed
Tom Sadler
Bruce Smithhammer
April Vokey
Bob White
Steve Zakur
Jay Zimmerman
Awesome Sauce

Available on:

Amazon Kindle
Apple iPad
B&N Nook
Kobo Reader
Android device (via the Kindle App for Android or the Kobo Reading App)
Mac computer (via iTunes + iBooks App, the Kindle App for Mac, or the Kobo Reading App)
Windows computer (via the Kindle App for PC or the Kobo Reading App)

Get it.

-Saucier Alex de'Awesome

Monday, November 25, 2013




Thursday, November 07, 2013

San Juan Skills


-Alex the fish wrangler.

Tuesday, October 22, 2013

For Luzzie: Smoke on the Water.

Eating and sleeping are the only activities that should be allowed to interrupt a man's enjoyment of his cigar.
-Mark Twain.

The subject: Trinidad Habana Reserve Siglo VI

Initial inspection proved this to be a handsome cigar. The wrap was smooth and head/cap were finished nicely, which lead to a neat cut. The initial draw was pleasurable and smooth, and the pre-light flavors were earthy, with hints of something sweet, almost cake-like.

It lit very easily, and needed no touching up. The earthy tones remained accompanied by a nutty undertone. Maybe almonds? (Maybe Hazelnut?-If I may be so bold.) The draw remained smooth and the taste, while hovering in the light to medium range, was soothing as the Cubano wrapper was sweet in the mouth.

As the cigar burnt down into the second third, the nut flavors began to recede as the taste became a little more spicy as the smoke thickened. I thought I might have picked up something in the citrus range, maybe a little grapefruit, but it was fleeting.

The burn was vain: near perfect, showing an excessively high opinion of itself as it wound down into the final third and the spice and pepper intensified along with the heat and quantity of smoke. I would say that this is generally my least favorite part of any cigar, and in this case I found myself wanting the medium light flavors from the beginning, but fearing that my pallet had now passed the point where I could appreciate those flavors again even if given the chance. 

At the end as it reached points of strength exceeding my level of appreciation, I gave the remaining nub a mariners death- drowning the fire in the cool mountain lake before stuffing the ashy remnant into my trash bag.

Sitting squarely in the $7 dollar range, I think they are a good deal, and a nice smoke if you are like me and enjoy a hassle-free smoke with rich flavors but like to remain on the lighter side of things. My father said it reminded him of a Fuente 858. I wouldn't know anything about that.

I would recommend it accompanied by JD Single Barrel out of a plastic flask.

The End.

Thanks to Luzzie at Neptune Cigars for providing the nicotine buzz.


Wednesday, October 09, 2013

Recent places: Lees Ferry/Marble Canyon "Float That Shit" ep.2 - Defying Death.

The tire blew. The tread, which had apparently spent the last couple hundred miles slowly detaching itself from the cap piles, belts, and carcass, slammed like a gunshot as it bent the bumper and dented the fender before flying to rest somewhere in the road; most likely to be tossed aside by a passing highway patrolman where it would live with its previously shorn brethren dotting the sides of Interstate 17.

We were thrown from the right lane across the passing lane and onto the sloped rock shoulder of the median. Marvin held the drift as the bed of the truck lost traction, sliding out to the left and down the hill at near 70mph. I tensed, gripping the armrest. Marvin, both hands on the wheel keeping the truck half on and half off the blacktop, said, "hold on" as polished steel front bumper ate a shoulder marker; its gray metal body and small white square reflective head disappearing under the truck with a thunk.

We lived a lifetime in that moment. The heavy rumble of the ruined tire, rocks pounding, thrown away and up into the undercarrage: chaos which seemed a stark contrast to the clear bright beauty of the morning seen through the windshield. In moments like this they say that your life flashes before your eyes. I cannot say that was the case in this instance. In fact, I am a little embarrassed and slightly concerned to tell you that the only thought that I can clearly remember thinking as we walked that gravitational and frictional tightrope was "this is going to make us late for fishing."

The tires still in contact with the pavement caught and the vehicle straightened out with a wobbly snap. Marvin steered the truck back across the lanes to the right shoulder and brought us to a stop where we surveyed the damage and swapped the tire with the spare in a rush; partly still twitchy as the last adrenaline was processed from out bodies, and partly because the backhaul up Marble Canyon left at 2:30, and our soft time cushion was diminishing by the minute. The job done, and with a quick still-alive-high-five, we continued out journey north with slightly raised levels of appreciation for just about everything. I ate the remainder of my subway sandwich as we talked loudly. It was abnormally delicious.

Discount tire in Flagstaf spit us out just in time to make it to the boat ramp at Lees Ferry as the CRD guide boats were loading people for backhaul. All was well and good.

Here are photos.

I can't be certain, but I think this may be Marvin retelling the tire story. Also, notice Marvin is wearing a had in this photo, which shortly after this image was taken blew off and sank, making him resort to wearing my spare buff the rest of the weekend. 

No hat.

People look cooler touching fish while wearing hats. Just sayin.

mmm tilt-shifty.

Buffalo wings at Vermillion Cliffs Lodge, after days of eating dehydrated food, are awe inspiring. 

-Alex who likes a little excitement now and again.

Monday, September 30, 2013

Lost count.

-Alex who reminds you to drink less if prone to spins during prolonged contemplation of the night sky.

Friday, September 20, 2013

Don't Bite Me, Asshole

I was doing some late night yard work, an as I grab the hose I got bit by a Diamond back rattle snake. So he had to die.
 The asshole
 The Bite marks
 I killed it so I must put it to use
 this is lunch
now a gift the the Fiancee, showing her what happens if she bites me

_Kyle, who is feeling a bit sick. Maybe I should have gone to the Hospital first.

Wednesday, September 18, 2013

Trophy Room

Not mine, but I wish.
This is the extension built onto Rusty Ulmer's house because he needed more room for more heads.

I just put the cat on the last pic because he was in a funny position.

Tuesday, August 06, 2013

This is where.

This is where the writing goes.

This is where I talk sunburnt shoulders and cold toes; about canyons and thin sky and clear water and sandstone rocks that fall and splash into the river at night and the cicadas that fall and splash into the river and get eaten by rainbow trouts.

This is where I talk about river backhauls with Holly the Hauler and bags of wine, rain and waterfalls, sandy tent floors and pan seared strip steaks, pontoons and five weights, sink tips with olive cone-head buggers, floating line with big black foam creatures; hoppers and droppers and stoppers and floppers.

This is where I talk about my father and my uncle, family and good times, learning and teaching and how important they all are.

This is where you look at pictures.

This is where I write -A.