Never in Theatres!

Yes.

Merry Christmas.

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.

-A

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
with
Erin Block
Alex Landeen
Pete McDonald
Miles Nolte
Tom Reed
Tom Sadler
Bruce Smithhammer
April Vokey
Bob White
Steve Zakur
Jay Zimmerman
aka
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

#Ahoy

#wouldn'tfightherforthebow
#thingsIwoulddowiththatpadel
#linestraighteningpriorities
#placesIwouldratherbe

#Alexwhoiscoldrightnow

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.

-Alex

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.

float that shit

This is a float, brother.

Pack that shit and get to the flowing river, brother.

What is that thing? You don't need that shit. Throw that shit out, brother.

You got some pants and a fly rod? Then you all good, brother.

What has two thumbs and pshops pre-float? This guy.

No, Brave Little Grater... this is no place for you, brother. We will get our quesadilla on hardcore when I get home, I promise.

-Alex who finally filled his Patagucci Black Holer duffel-n-stuffs.

Your Cure

Are you feeling tired?

Are you experiencing an acute lack of excitement?

Feel like the world has a vice grip on your gonads with no relief in sight?

Introducing Pulp•Aid!

Pulp•Aid is your cure for boring daily life. Made from only the finest ingredients, Pulp•Aid will give you the pep you need to carry on.

Pulp•Aid is still in the testing phase, but you can now get the same wonderful curing power of Pulp, -without the side effects- by purchasing Pulp Fly - Vol. Two! Follow the links below to these fine electronic purveyors of awesomeness:

-Alex who only wants the best for you.

Mikesells Makos: A Video

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

mouthfullabow

Yo, dude... you got some stocker in your teeth.

-A

A Deliberate Post

The Smythester

The Smythester (aka Matt Smythe) and photographer Grant Taylor  recently released the trailer for their film A Deliberate Life. A full length version will be debued at IF4.

From watching the trailer, I find that it has all the things that I have come to expect from the introspective side of fly fishing film: stunning landscapes, sun flares, neato time lapse imagery, slow motion RED EPIC deliciousness, more sun flares, pretty fish, dramatic music, etc.

The message is simple and pertinent: Like an a capella version of the Beastie Boys, Fight For Your Right, A Deliberate Life reminds you to not only to fight for your right to party, but for the pursuit of happiness and for that which is most important to you.

Yeah. Pretty solid way to be.


"A Deliberate Life" (Trailer) - Official Selection, IF4 2013 from IF4 on Vimeo.

-Alex who is living deliberately.

Awesome, only a little awesomer.

The first time I saw a Nomad composite landing net (at the Carp Slam last year) I knew I would own one. I was standing next to MG when I spied that olive-drab-carbon-badassness from across the tent and channeled my inner Wayne Campbell, mumbling "she will be mine. Oh, yes. She will be mine." It only took a year.

So this year over at Trouts, when MG was all "Can I put the Nomad back now, please" I was all like, " Not today, my good man. I'm feeling saucy...." You know.

So now that the awesomeness is all mine I had to make it just a little more awesomer by adding a loop so I can clip it to my pontoon boat or pack, making sure the kickass remains mine.

Carbon weave? Check.
Tactical-like Olive Rubberized Paint? Check.
Rubber bag for keeping the fishes happy and your shit untangled? Check.
Lightweight like a boss? Check.

And now: Paracord braded loop in matching olive and black? Double Check, bro.

Gonna play with some LMB next week. I think them fishes be totally like "damn son, this shit is nice in here. You da man!"

Yep.

-Alex who is still writing this signature style because k8 said she likes it. You still out there?

pans on glass

Hey.
Slow down, speedracer. That is not one of those hot-shot rocket-launchers you kids throw these days. Understand? Take your time. There is no reason to rush things. The power comes through grace, my boy.

-Alex who occasionally likes it wiggly.

no time.

I have no time. No time to tell you about the awesomeness that was. No time to tell you about the awesomeness that will be. Just no time.

Let me relax. Let me sit on the couch and watch DVR things. Let me climb into bed without thinking about time. Please.

Not gonna happen, bro. Suck it up and get your shit re-packed, bro. Get back on the road. Hows the shoulder? Hows the finger? Doesn't matter. Don't be a pussy.

No rest for the fishy.

Matt Dunn took this photo and the coolness is undeniable.

-Alex who will be late to the PM post party due to large amounts of extra awesomeness, but promises not to disappoint when the time comes.

delicious murder

The white truffle hid in the cool red folds. The garlic was angry and prowling and the olive oil made traction impossible. Absolutely no footing at all. The elk was long dead and the ectomycorrhizal fruiting body was sure to follow.

There was a low hum in the dim evening light that was felt more than heard. Muffled voices mumbled intoxicated through the wall. Smoke swirled around the patio through the sliding door.

A man appeared from the living room and walked to the refrigerator and removed a bottle of beer. Another man, in a camoflage baseball hat moved over to the plastic container and loomed above. The man with the beer stepped up beside and pointed a proud finger towards the warming flesh.

"Yeah?"
"Yeah."

He took a pull from the bottle and wiped his mouth on his arm and nodded. "Yeah."

A third man stepped into the room to join the others, knowing the time was close at hand.

The truffle closed it's eyes and shuddered, remembering the screams of the tomatoes when the door was slammed on the metal cylinder, their steaming lifeless eyes as they were dumped unceremoniously into the mixing bowl. The poor, innocent potatoes; their skin sliced from their bodies one dreadful howling slice at a time till they bled-out sticky on the white counter just to be dumped half-dead into the boiling liquid. At least the broccoli had been quick; a merciful decapitation.

A browning banana on the edge of the microwave looked down with sad, beaten eyes.

There was a grinding noise and the plate was lifted from the counter. They were moving toward the smoke. The chives cried out as the lid opened and the fire rolled and howled. The yellow peppers were stubborn and resolute, their faces unreadable as they were placed one by one on the hot steel with a sickening sizzle.

The garlic panicked.

The meat fell with a slap. The pain was instant and unbearable. The truffle choked through a scream into the smoke as the man with the beer placed another bleeding slab on the grill. The coals hissed in anger and flames flashed in terrible chaos. The truffle could take no more. The last thing it saw before losing consciousness was the face of the man in the camouflage baseball hat floating in the darkening twilight.

He was smiling.

-Alex who likes his death rare, please.

tasty flesh

-Alex who knows to the victor's kin goes a small percentage of the spoils.

mary had a little lamb

... and it was so good she had a little more.

-Alex who is painfully thankful.

Halloween bringin' it.

-Alex who has a hundred points and a gold star for the person (besides FGFF crew) who can tell me where the boar on the pumpkin is from.