Oops...

On the Urban South Platte:

Police: Injured cyclist not the victim of a 'booby trap'

DENVER - A cyclist - originally believed to have been involved in a clothesline accident described as a "booby trap" by EMTs - is now believed to have been the victim of a simple accident involving a fly fisherman.

...

"Due to the size of the fish, the reporting party had to walk down the hill to obtain his fish. As he was walking down the dirt hill and attempting to tighten his fish line, the bicyclist came down the bike path. The bicyclist's helmet grazed the fish line at that time, and the bicyclist removed his hand from the handlebars swatting the fish line. At that point, the reporting party believes he lost control, and that's when the victim fell off his bike," Raquel Lopez with the Denver Police Department said.

Coming soon to your local fly shop:

-Alex the Insensitive.

more brazen indifference than ninja tactics

bass fruit

The suburban camouflage of collared shirts, buttons and khaki could only conceal our position for so long, and the level of contempt in the HOA woman’s eyes could have drowned a rat. She didn’t give a shit about the fish, only that we weren’t one of them. Even her dog looked mad. But it’s fine, she was three hours late to the party and our buggers and streamers had already yanked a few specimens of forbidden fruit out of her chemically treated pond.

“Do you live here?”

“No, but I got permission from, uhhh, Sandy... Sandy Johnson? Maybe you know her?”

“The homeowner has to be with you if you are going to fish. You are trespassing. Please leave.”

Aaron the trespasser.

It’s okay, I’m no anarchist and I don’t generally get off on breaking the rules, but I will when I feel it's necessary for the keeping of sanity. She wasn’t telling us anything that we don’t already know but sometimes you just have to go catch some pond slobs to prove that there is more to fly fishing behavior in Tucson on a weekday afternoon than organizing gear, hanging out at the fly shop or sitting at the vise on the couch watching TV... even if I have to endure Miss I-walk-my-dog-around-the-lakes-every-day-to-drive-out-leaching-scum-like-you and her judging eyes.

It’s okay, she looked divorced.

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.

This month's Things We Caught That Weren't Fish feature

Over here in the AZ we may not have The Underwear, but we do have our own something-something:

I'm not a hosieologist, but I believe Aaron's young Parker Canyon Lake Sock is of the anklea genus.

-Alex

Finding Nemo.... in your toilet.

In celebration of the birth of the Brownline Nation, Aaron and I went to a urban pond in search of roughfish. Aaron found this little guy, then we went to a bar where I got cheese-drunk on chili fries.

There are big grass carp and catfish in that lake, but I have been unsuccessful in hooking one so don't give me no lip if you see me spraying liquid ass on my nymphs in the future.