Thursday, June 27, 2013
Mikesells Makos: A Video
shit went down at
7:30 PM
I have more to say about the subject of sharks and fly rods, but for now I leave you with this videographic deliciousness, edited from last weekends gopro footage.
Enjoy.
Also, be sure to check out Rick's play-by-play write-up over at Trouts.
-A
Sunday, June 23, 2013
a slight bitch and a preview of things to come v-8.2
shit went down at
8:14 PM
I must have done something wrong like thanking the incorrect deity post trophy-fish netting or running over some old gypsy woman or something because this feel like some brand of voodoo.
First it was the the week-long PM steelhead trip where the first day I began an apocalyptic sinus head-fuck cold/flu/snot-fest that kept me in bed and out of the drift boat for the first few days.
Now it was strep throat for the San Diego shark trip; fever, body aches, headache, prescription antibiotics, the whole shebang.
And if that isn't silly enough, two years ago when I had a day scheduled with Conway Bowman (the guide we had for this trip) who at the last minute had to pass the trip to Dave Trimble because he was sick with, get this, strep throat.
Seriously. I havn't had strep since I was like 8, and now it shows up on the day before a trip with a guy who had to bail because of it two years ago?
Two out of state trips this year, two sicknesses that could not have been planned better for maximum shittyness. Yeah. Voodoo.
But you know what? Fuck it. In Michigan I stuck steelhead and yesterday Makos felt the cold steel so eat a dick, illness. You have to do better than that to keep my fly out of the water, you bastard.
There is GoPro footage to edit, and I am going to bed so hard right now but I will leave you with this little tasty screenshot.
Enjoy.
-Alex who will probably be enjoying soft foods for a few more days.
First it was the the week-long PM steelhead trip where the first day I began an apocalyptic sinus head-fuck cold/flu/snot-fest that kept me in bed and out of the drift boat for the first few days.
Now it was strep throat for the San Diego shark trip; fever, body aches, headache, prescription antibiotics, the whole shebang.
And if that isn't silly enough, two years ago when I had a day scheduled with Conway Bowman (the guide we had for this trip) who at the last minute had to pass the trip to Dave Trimble because he was sick with, get this, strep throat.
Seriously. I havn't had strep since I was like 8, and now it shows up on the day before a trip with a guy who had to bail because of it two years ago?
Two out of state trips this year, two sicknesses that could not have been planned better for maximum shittyness. Yeah. Voodoo.
But you know what? Fuck it. In Michigan I stuck steelhead and yesterday Makos felt the cold steel so eat a dick, illness. You have to do better than that to keep my fly out of the water, you bastard.
There is GoPro footage to edit, and I am going to bed so hard right now but I will leave you with this little tasty screenshot.
Enjoy.
Spoiler alert: That fly is in trouble. |
-Alex who will probably be enjoying soft foods for a few more days.
Wednesday, June 19, 2013
Sunday, June 16, 2013
Friday, June 14, 2013
Thoughts, renderings, and Pulp Fly: Vol. 2 in the multiverse
shit went down at
1:28 PM
As the modern age pushes another little bundle of joyful ones and zeros out into the electronic existence, I sit thinking of Morgan Freeman. In the multiverse, and its set of infinite possible universes that together "comprise everything that exists and can exist: the entirety of space, time, matter, and energy as well as the physical laws and constants that describe them," these things which you see before you do exist, physically, somewhere:
In one reality humans consume information in a literal sense, and someone soon will be taking a nice big cold swig of extra pulpy Vol. 2, basking in the refreshing deliciousness of fresh fly fishing content. While they wipe some tasty prose from their chin with the back of their once sun-beaten forearm they stare out an office window and thank their deity for the shared experience of others.
---
A few realities away a child sits on a old pine bench on the porch of a cabin. He holds in his little hands a weathered book, he opens the cover and flips through a few chapters, letting the thick, rough edged pages fall between his fingers. His discarded waders and boots piled near his feet, which swing enthusiastically above the wooden deck.
An old man appears at the screen door holding a mixing bowl with sweet smelling , unknown contents.
The child looks up through the door. "You wrote this, grandpa?"
"No, just a part of it."
"Well, I bet it is the best part," the child replies and continues flipping through the old pages.
The old man smiles through the dusty screen as the sun pokes its orange fingers through the last remaining gaps in the tall trees that line the high mountain lake.
---
So finally we end with our own occasionally boring yet magnificently awesome reality, where right now the crack (or cracked out) editorial staff of Pulp Fly is working around the clock to bring you, valued reader, the newest, freshest, most bestest yet Pulp Fly yet: Volume Two, of which I am grateful to be a part:
As updates become available I will give them to you. For now, just try not to melt your brain thinking of all the awesomeness existing elsewhere, and focus more on the awesomeness existing here.
-Alex who may have shirked some semi-important duties while in the throws of graphic creation.
Tasty |
In one reality humans consume information in a literal sense, and someone soon will be taking a nice big cold swig of extra pulpy Vol. 2, basking in the refreshing deliciousness of fresh fly fishing content. While they wipe some tasty prose from their chin with the back of their once sun-beaten forearm they stare out an office window and thank their deity for the shared experience of others.
---
A few realities away a child sits on a old pine bench on the porch of a cabin. He holds in his little hands a weathered book, he opens the cover and flips through a few chapters, letting the thick, rough edged pages fall between his fingers. His discarded waders and boots piled near his feet, which swing enthusiastically above the wooden deck.
An old man appears at the screen door holding a mixing bowl with sweet smelling , unknown contents.
The child looks up through the door. "You wrote this, grandpa?"
"No, just a part of it."
"Well, I bet it is the best part," the child replies and continues flipping through the old pages.
The old man smiles through the dusty screen as the sun pokes its orange fingers through the last remaining gaps in the tall trees that line the high mountain lake.
What Pulp Fly: Vol. 2 would look like existing physically |
---
So finally we end with our own occasionally boring yet magnificently awesome reality, where right now the crack (or cracked out) editorial staff of Pulp Fly is working around the clock to bring you, valued reader, the newest, freshest, most bestest yet Pulp Fly yet: Volume Two, of which I am grateful to be a part:
This is what Pulp Fly: Vol. 2 looks like in our (and your) reality |
As updates become available I will give them to you. For now, just try not to melt your brain thinking of all the awesomeness existing elsewhere, and focus more on the awesomeness existing here.
-Alex who may have shirked some semi-important duties while in the throws of graphic creation.
Wednesday, June 05, 2013
casting for fun
shit went down at
12:39 AM
Conditions on the way to the lake: On Fire.
Conditions on the lake itself: Decidedly not on fire.
This is what mid summer bass skunkage looks like while the chomper drops a load of milfoil. |
The most action all day came when the angler seen above lost an expensive bait rig overboard and went in head first after it. He said it felt like something pulled it out his hands... I would like to believe him, and I think I will just for sanity's sake.
2013 Bass - 1, Alex - 0
#suckitfish
-Alex gonna-take-my-shirt-off-just-long-enough-to-get-some-color-then-burn-my-winter-white-ass-self-to-shit Landeen
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