Getting around to it.

I know... I am tired of hearing about and I got your emails. It has been over a week and I am still suffering from PASD, (Post Altitude Stress Disorder), which is common for me upon returning from the mountains however it seems that this is a worse case than usual. 

I take showers.

I drive in traffic.

I don't smell like fish and dirt and bacon and there are no wine/beer/whisky stains on my pants.

Fucked up, I know.

So bare with me as I slowly get my shit back together.

-Alex the guy with the shit which is apart.

Frustration

I wake up at 4 am, grab the pack I loaded up the night before with my camo taped tri pods, high powered binoculars, water, ammo, and my 7mm magnum. As I open the door to my truck I wonder why the old people feel the need to walk their rodent like dogs in front of my house and stare while i am covered head to toe in brush camo. Can they see me?

I drive 30 miles away from home onto a dirt road up the mountain and see truck after truck. Shit everyone is coming out for the last 2 days of the hunt. Finally i found a spot to park and see a hill that I want to glass off of. I grab my 70lbs. pack out of my truck and start my mile and a half hike.

"I am too fat for this shit" I told myself, but still pushed on.

I reach the peak that I wanted, out of breath and wanting to throw up. I set up the glass and wait for the sun to start peeking over the hill tops. As I scan the half dead bushes, and cactus the wind starts to blow mildly shaking my optics so I can not see much movement on the field.

As the wind dies I am staring at a patch of cactus being approached slowly by a small group of javalina.  Some movement from beyond the prickly pear patch catches my eye. I set my rifle on the other tripod and focus my scope in.

BANG! Someones shot startled my buck down an canyon and out of range.

"Where the fuck is he?" I said to myself.

Suddenly  more shot fire, one after another, I hear yelling off in the distance as i am glassing to see if more people are around. Nothing.

I hike up to another hill top, this time leaving my pack behind. I glass down and see 4 people target shooting at what seems to be nothing. Fucking assholes.



I wonder if this round will be fired off this season.

-Kyle, who wants his first deer.

Our state is on fire... can we come fish yours?

Everything, it seems, is burning in Arizona.

In northern AZ strong winds push the Wallow fire as it chews through the forests and prairies of the White Mountains. Belching smoke and ash and defecating destruction, it has consuming over 300,000 acres so far making it the second largest fire in AZ history. As of four hours ago it was 0% contained.

Out east the Horseshoe Two fire burns around Silver Peak. 106,000 acres. 50% contained.

To the southeast crews are cleaning up the last bits of the Arlene fire. 10,000 acres. 70% contained.

Down south the Murphy Fire wanders around the hills and rough peaks just east of Arivaca Lake, a sneaky bastard. 50,000 acres. 15% contained.

Well, what's a fat guy to do? Go fishing, of course.

the usual

I walked into the Golden Nugget and Holly seemed happy to see me. She had begun to walk out from around behind the bar as I opened the door, headed for the Scratchers vending machine but when she saw me she twisted on her heel and flowed back behind the wood and spun me a napkin. She had won $500 a few weeks ago and she can't seem to stay away from it, she said.

It is cash only and I had $10 in my pocket, plenty at the Nugg, or so it used to be.

"Holly," I said, "I got ten bucks and I need something strong." She leaned over the bar and fetched the usual. I slapped the money down as she poured the Yukon Jack into the shot glass. It was a good pour. It's always a good pour at the Nugg. As she walked to the register she paused. "Umm," she began, "it looks like they changed the prices for 2011. Yukon is now $6.50."

Six fifty? It used to be three fifty, or four, I can't remember but ten dollars used to be enough to get started, at least, and a beer back is little consolation.

The first let down of the new year.

On a better, more in-tune note, the new BloodKnot is out. Represent.

It is happening all over the place and it's driving me insane.

I know some of the waters. I have stood in the same spot, on the same bank. Things are happening right now, maybe someplace I know and maybe not but it doesn't really matter when one is not there. Big, nasty hungry fish that know the solid water well and rebel against it and I am no part of it.

Time is against us now and all I want for Christmas is poundage on the end of my line and at this point I don't really care who's lap I have to sit on.

Is there still time? I think so. Five hours there and five hours back but the clouds are looming and the ice is starting to crickle-crackle its way into the still water between the rocks, under the boat docks and into my head. Is this really the end of the season for me? Are the White Mountains really so close and yet so far? Can my shitty truck muster the mechanical fortitude to make it to the pines? Maybe, but probably not. I fear I may have procrastinated too long, and my wallet is a little light and there is no one to blame but myself.

This is the eleventh hour, people, and if you are there make the best of it, great, but don't call me to tell me how awesome it is because if I should perish in a vain attempt to locate and cast a line while strangling you, the blood will be on your hands.

-Alex who should shut the hell up and go to bed.