MG Bed and Breakfast.

...the leading edge in everything, everywhere.

True story.

Come hang out.

I am fortunate enough to have a print hanging in the Surface Film III gallery this year, held in Denver to benefit the conservation group The Greenbacks.

This is not mine. Photo: Nate Luke

...

-Alex who thinks you should come hang out.

If you haven't seen this yet.....

I remember a while ago, like 4 years ago, when I was thinner, when Alex was fat, and Aaron was just the same, I was living in Colorado. Alex and Aaron came to visit me for a few days of fishing the coffee colored waters of the South Platte river. It was a heavy rain 2 days before the arrival of Aaron and Alex, the clear low waters of the South Platte turned into a super creamed out coffee look, the flow tripled, the fish were not around too much. But with the help of beer, 16oz. steaks every night, double or triple burgers for lunch everyday, it was a feast and a fest for a fat guy who loves to fish. The days consisted of fishing, drinking, and fishing. The night consisted of drinking, bars and eating. It was fun. Very very fun.

 

These were some fun days.

the DSP effect

One man said that the carp here were just like the carp back home, if the carp back home didn't eat.

I feel warn. Some people say that the water will begin to burn if you don't wash it off soon enough. Some have said that the tingling can start within minutes of entering. Still, I feel that people who wear waders in this river are not to be trusted.

The sun had just started to push yellowly at the metal blinds in the living room. He handed me a cup of coffee.

"Sugar?"

"No sugar."

I needed the coffee. Not because I like coffee. I don't like coffee. It makes me twitchy but I needed to take a shit before we left the house. It is easier to drink coffee for that purpose with some sugar.

He slurped loudly and the sound was somehow reassuring. Someone creaked the ceiling barefoot from above.

His car is clean. He just had it detailed and even picked all the french fries out from under the seat that flew out of the bag that I was put in charge of securing. There is a giant oversized Humphrey Bogart Plus dure sera la chute poster on the wall in the living room that I almost don't even notice anymore.

You see, there is this plant material that is floating down the river all the time. It is floating down right now. I can hear it silently pissing me off. When your line lands on the surface of the water, this material will slide down the leader as it sinks and become stuck on your fly. The carp, which are for the most part not interested in what you have going on anyways, will be less interested in what you have going on when it is covered in salad. I didn't catch a fish. I am not using the salad as an excuse, just pointing it out as a new development in my DSP carp chronicles.

We were going fishing. We did. It was much of the same.

Some people don't care about salad. Some people are professionals. Some people are winners.

Will Rice and Clint Packo. Winners.

-A

Interspecies erotica and nine knuckles deep; a pre-pre-slam shortie.

It is not strange, by definition, if it is expected.

The pre-pre slam activities are progressing as expected, for the most part.

Cakes caked.

Party is happening.

Reynolds showing why he is the man.

Fish is happening.

JPL like a mofo

Nine-Knuckle Gangstas are abound. (You probably want to know, but you can't.)

And then there is the other stuff...

Luchadors in action

DSP Dirty Love.

-Alex who always knows how it will be, but is always a little surprised.

There again.

It is that time again. Time for them carps in CO.

Once the urban Platte gets in your blood, it is part of you forever... Generally in the form of some blood borne virus. But I ain't scared. No, sir. It is time for the baptism of chemical and slime, and green sludge that leaks from large concrete pipes. Scrub that good, mister fisherman. Scrub hard.

See you soon on on the banks of the SP, rocking the MG/JPL/AL manwich. This shit is about to get real. Again. Even realer, this time. If that is possible. C'mon, Ricecakes; let freedom ring!

So real, it hurts.

-A

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.

Mustard Moustache Ride.

Nate Taylor doesn't have a name for this pattern. Now he does.

I am home from Denver. Complete nonsense to follow.

A preview of things to come...

Soon...

-Alex who bought new pants just for the occasion.

He said Colorado, but we have our doubts (a drawn-while-drunk post)

Kyle Googles a lot. Thats what he does. A few weeks ago Aaron and I stumbled upon Mr. Deneen searching for some place called Peter Island. He said he wanted to "fish" there, but Aaron and I had our doubts.

I dropped him off at the airport this morning and did not have to forethought to take a peak at his itinerary. I guess we will never know.

(Artist rendering of Peter Island by Aaron Dennett)

Remembering Colorado

Its been almost 4 months since I have been back in Arizona, and Still waiting for the time I arrive back in Colorado.

Many new friends I have made, new experiences, and most of all my fishing talents have improved 10 fold.

To everyone in Colorado Springs, Manitou Springs, Deckers, Leadville, Pueblo, and most of all Denver, one face and one name kick ass above all;
Dude, Michael, you proclaim yourself as 3/4 of a fat guy but I say 1/2 ( size only 100% with the attitude).

Thanks buddy for being cool and fishing with us!

Kyle- who wants that fucking hat

I Prefer............

I prefer a glass of whiskey over a mug of coffee on a cold winters morning.

I prefer Old Crow and Jim Beam over Bushmills or Jamensons

I prefer my 7 1/2' #4 over my 9' #4 fly rods

I prefer the floor rather than a bed

I prefer tying San Juan worms over buying them, C'mon who the hell cant tie one of those?

I prefer graphite over bamboo

I prefer vacationing in Colorado rather than living here, Its much more of a treat to come here on occasion rather than being spoiled by living here

I prefer standard transmission over automatic

I prefer ponds and rivers over large lakes

I prefer shitty beer over high priced crap that tastes like shit other than beer

I prefer beer over water

I prefer women who like to fish rather than women who like to bitch alot

I prefer dead animal over that hippie shrubbery shit (no point of being a vegetarian)

I prefer, on a hung over morning, to pee outside or pee like a woman instead of standing and aiming

-Kyle who hates to stand and pee on a hung over morning

Colorado early snow , Bordem as a Chef

I am very bored, so I will share with you all some things happening in Colorado right now.

For those of you who do not live in Colorado, and many of you live in the heat, We have been seeing some unsightly early snow. I am not too sure what to think about 4 days in the high 70's and suddenly we hit snow. The mornings here in Deckers have been between 32 and 37, I do love the cold but not this early. I am sure the leaves will change from green to dead, instead of the spangled orange yellow and red on the Aspens.
Please be careful driving, the weather on the moutains is starting to kill off a bit of vegitation so the Deer and elk have been lowering into the canyons and roads. Trust me its no fun to hit an elk as I did last November and almost lost my car. The bastard even walked away from the hit as I sat there with a busted ass front end.

Yet good news, I have been throwing BWO's along the South Platte sizes 24-28 with a Zebra Midge dropper, the midge has been doing well and a few hits on my BWO. Don't be a pansy and get your ass out on the river, the fishing is getting nice with the cold.

OK This morning I woke at 4a.m., that is normal for me, and decided on my fruit plates this morning I wanted to make flies. I have not been tying much so I thought I would make a golden stone out of strawberries cantaloupe, pineapple, and blue berries. If you could not tell I am quite bored. Stupidity or creativity you tell me.

-Kyle, Damn the cold sometimes

I always knew he was a stinky bastard.

Kyle on chum:

Click the image, and go tell the Chum Nation how much Kyle kicks-ass.

Fat Guys, fishbeer and some yeast poop in CO

I knew it would happen sooner or later, and that it would be sweet. I have always praised the combination and understood that there is a love-love relationship between being outdoors and enjoying a few oat sodas, but I think few men have taken it to the level of Matt Dunn, the mastermind behind Fishbeer.com, who just happened to occupy the same space and time with a few fat guys last weekend, (including Michael Gracie, the self-proclaimed 3/4 fat guy).

The atmosphere was light, and the 20oz draughts were cold at Govnr's Park as the conversation fluttered around fishing, midgets (as it will often do in the presence of Kyle) and beer. Matt spoke about the class that he taught in Indiana The Art and Science of Beer: History, Technology, and Culture and the disappointment of frat boys who realize too late that "beer bong dynamics" is not covered in the course. He enlightened us uneducated beer-drinkers that in the past men, women and children alike drank beer daily, and I have learned by perusing one of his online power-point lectures that the first recorded recipe is for brewing beer. Awesome.

It does not take long to understand that Matt knows a lot about beer and has a great passion about the subject - and I don't mean like your buddy who brewed it once in his kitchen and feels smart in front of the ladies when talking about things like "mouthfeel," "palate," and "nose." Matt is a pro, and was more than happy to do a little R&D with some new friends in Denver.

After a few rounds, some tasty drinks and food the afternoon came to an end, and we had to depart. Matt will be running around Colorado for a few more weeks, and I believe he has plans to camp and do some hot-nighttime-mouse-on-river action with Gracie tomorrow. Keep an eye out on Gracie's site for that post, as I threw him some hot tips for night photography that I hope will pay off with some full-moon eye candy.

Matt, it was a pleasure, and you are welcome down here is AZ anytime. The fishing may not be as good as CO, but the drinking is first-rate.

-Alex who should stay behind the camera.

In order to fall off the wagon, you have to get on it first.

I bitched, whined and complained. I kicked my feet and threw my fists and screamed till I could not scream any more but it happened anyway. The Carp Slam was over, my plane was departing, and I had to leave Colorado. I brought with me 994 images, a back ache, and a greater understanding of life. If you did not have the pleasure, I will give you a hint:

partying

fishing

-Alex

Another another preview of things to come...

Enough never is, and if I die under a smothering pile of too much I will die a happy man. This weekend I will be back in CO covering the Carp Slam, doing my damnedest to bring you the real story--the dirty brown filth that will inevitably have to be foul-hooked and dragged backwards and upside-down till close enough to be beaten into submission.

I know a large fish will sooner break a man than be turned into a trophy, and with cash and prizes and fame on the line, I cannot imagine and am excited to be able to witness first hand the last acts of these soon-to-be desperate men.

May carp have mercy on your souls.

-Alex who knows that this weekend, in some form of another, asses will get kicked on the Platte.

Fly fishing Colorado through the eyes of the Fat Guys

It was warm outside, those with xeriscaped lawns might call it muggy. My pack and camera case weighed heavily on my shoulders as the double doors slid open and I stepped out onto the shaded asphalt. I spotted the hoard of moderately attractive, middle aged women and knew that I was in the right place.

A bald man stepped out of his SUV to post-pubescent screams of lust and after pushing his way through the crowd, extended his hand. “It’s good to finally meet you.” This was the first time I met the man known as Michael Gracie.

We pushed through the swarm, threw the mildly-smelling-of cat-crap gear in the back of the vehicle and punched the go button, off to destinations unknown to me.

Pleasantries spouted, and hey-how-are-ya’s done and over with, we drive his modest cleaner-than-most bachelors abode, drop off the gear, and head to the local fly shop.

Discount Fishing Tackle is a non-descript storefront in a non-descript strip mall paralleling Sante Fe Drive. One fat guy, and one three-quarters fat guy pulled into the parking lot.

The man often known as MG turned the key and leaned over my way. “There is something I have to warn you about before we go in there,” he said. “As soon as we walk in, if the guy behind the counter calls me a [explicative] or a [explicative]…. don’t worry about it.” They say forewarned is forearmed, and I had a knife in my teeth and a blunderbuss in hand as we breeched.

“Oh shit, look who is here!” The stubbly counter guy exclaimed as the door beeped MG and I walked in.

There is fishing stuff on the walls, there is fishing stuff on the floor, there is fishing stuff falling out of and bulging from every crack, nook and usable cranny. My kind of shop.

The guy behind the counter smiles as he walks around the corner. “How you doing, I’m Tom.” I shake his hand and he shifts his glance to Gracie, “What’s up, bitch?”

This is the one, the only... Tom Teasdale.

My situation explained, Tom browses the fly selection, picking out all the flies I will need to, as a fellow named Nate Taylor would frequently exclaim thereafter, “crush some huge fish.”

Paid up, and paid out; rung up and run into the parking lot Gracie and I stowed our booty and headed home. Me with a new box full of flies and Gracie with some pimp new shades and net were ready, apparently, for any fish to come our way. A half a bottle of peppermint schnapps and a 12-pack later we were ready for bed.

A few hours later the coffee was brewing as we prepared for a day on water when the doorbell rang and in walked the aforementioned Mr. Taylor.

Dressed in white from head to toe, closely resembling a Bermudian cricket player, Nate seemed a little sleepy but nonetheless ready to throw flies. The drive to “this particular section” of the South Platte River allowed to sun time to crawl out from behind the Front Range and warm the preparing anglers.

I was told that because we had been so late in leaving the house, (what had once been a enthusiastic 2:30am departure time faded into a partially-hung-over 4:30am) that between four and eight cars would be cooling off in the river parking lot, and their passengers already beating the waters before us.

But it appeared that on this Saturday morning we were ahead of the curve as we pulled into an empty dirt lot and began to gear-up in the fresh morning light.

The air was crisp, and the mosquitoes many, as took to the trail and headed down stream.

The fish were plentiful but all small stockers as we threw and walked west downriver, and the aforementioned Mr. Taylor soon made an executive decision to halt westerly progress and head back up stream in search of larger fish to “crush.” That he apparently knows are there.

I shrug and begin the walk back through the grass and shin-stabbing bushes to find Gracie, who had intentionally fallen behind to beat up the pools we had turned our noses up to in our hunt for larger prey with stimulators and trailing emergers.

After a drink back at the car, and a short walk in the opposite direction, the little rainbows that had been so plentiful before started to disappear. And for good reason... the fish here are big, and in no mood to put up with the nonsense from their under-developed brethren.

Gracie on the reel! The aforementioned Nate Taylor on the reel! Big beautiful browns, with a surprising tendency for aerial acrobatics find their way into our nets.

Even a big fat rainbow (that Gracie spotted, but I "stole") liked my bug enough to accept the invite to the net party.

Hours and some fantastic dry-dropper and nymphing later, the afternoon faded into brought slower bites and annoying wind, but that was fine as we all felt it had been a very kick-ass day and turned back toward the parking lot.

Back to the house we flew! And then Ding-Dong! Tom Teasdale, Greg Drapeau (Some Primal Dudes) at the door and ready for partying.

We all drink a beers and as soon as my I-only-brought-one-pair-so-I-had-to-wash-them-before-going-to-the-bar-because-they-stunk-from-wet-wading shorts dried, then left for manly refreshments.

The night progressed as expected, and after the crew walked home from the pub we wished Tom, Greg and the aforementioned Nick Taylor luck as they left for shenanigans unknown, and crashed our sleep-deprived asses into bed.

Sunday morning was a lazy one and we slowly gathered our gear from some South Platte carp fishing.

We arrived and found James Snyder balls deep in the river already, with nothing good to report. Fish everywhere but not eating. We decided to head to some double-super-top-secret-well-populated-suburban lake, but the story remained the same. Slow.

Aaron Seymore , visiting from out of town, did manage to hook a fatty carp, and to the sorry fishless faces of his comrades exclaimed, “That’s how we do it Michigan!”

Enough said, Aaron.

In to the car, back to the house to meet Kyle and edit images… Then to the bar.

And now, here I sit in MG’s house, stealing his CPU time spilling the beans. I will be fishing tomorrow with Kyle, but will not have access to a computer machine for another week, as I will be in the White Mountains of Arizona catching beautiful (but most likely smaller) fish.

More eye candy...

Gracie contemplating the existence of fly

An ace double-hauler (Mr. Teasdale)

This is how you hero shot, drop a fish, and recover like a pro

My own badassness, from MG's perspective

Gracie's badassness from a professional standpoint

-Alex who thinks it would be really funny to go sit on Kyle’s passed out head.