Posts from the “Freshwater” Category

Even The Bass Pile On Sometimes

Posted on July 13th, 2011

I Google Earthed the locale near my hotel. Water. Accessible water. Sometimes the satellites do not present the full picture. I took to Beta testing some bad-ass prototypes from WT. Prognosis? They cast well and swim well. Fish? What do you want? It’s Florida in July; 95 degrees in the freaking gloaming. Due time for paydirt. Field testing in the name of science builds an appetite. This is what you call a dynamic cuban sandwich. On to the hotel bar to cleanse the palate and hear the lounge act.

Tagged: ,

Dangerous Beauty

Posted on May 24th, 2011

  Downloaded the underwater shots from my recent pike fishing expedition. Some people see ugliness in her face, but I see cold calculating elegance. Even here, subdued, her eye has a look like she’s sizing up the possibility of biting off my fingers.

Tagged:

Carp Sex

Posted on May 20th, 2011

  I had a small window of time to get it done today, my only alloted fishing time this week. The carp were getting it done, too. Full on spawn.   Funny how pheramones and the need to proliferate trump all. On a normal day these fish spook at the sound of a footstep on the bank at 80 feet. Today, I could have lobbed grenades in the water and they would have doubled back and reconvened with purpose.   All I could do was break down the rod, pull out the camera, and get some grainy voyeur shots for posterity.  

Tagged: , ,

Largesse

Posted on May 6th, 2011

  Thank you for subscribing to two of the deadly sins, avarice and gluttony. Thank you for trying to eat the object making raucous splashes that doesn’t really look like food, just in case. Thank you for jumping.

Tagged:

The Angler’s Palate: Cubans

Posted on March 14th, 2011

  This is the suburbs, man, there’s no need to pack in supplies. Everything is just down the street. But ritual dictates a stop at the local convenience for a sandwich wrapped in cellophane. There are better, more proper, cuban sandwiches to be had but then you’d have to wait five, maybe ten minutes to have it made for you, fifteen if there’s a line. The bread’s not exactly cuban, but there’s the pork, ham, swiss, pickles and mustard. It counts. I’m not prone to superstition, but when I’m on the road in Florida, eating one puts me in the right place for the task at hand. Coming Soon: The Hungry Man. (A full hero loaded with three eggs, sausage, bacon, ham and cheese.…

Tagged:

Dispatch from the Brownline South

Posted on March 9th, 2011

  Get your creep on and move down the shoreline in a crouch, hiding your profile from the beast tucked into the limestone bank, and then your backcast freaks an iguana that dives headfirst into the water. Everything splits. People are watching you from the parking lot. Why do you even chase these things? They’re not supposed to be there and they invoke diatribes about evil and your role in it. You just like to watch them chase undulating feathers. Bag limit? Unlimited. Some people are into the killing, leaving carcasses as a warning to the others. Even though they have no cerebral cortex and are incapable of heeding threats or doing anything other than what they do. At least eat it, brother. Supposedly…

Tagged: ,

Threat Level Orange

Posted on March 8th, 2011

  The canals of South Florida had business that needed tending. Mark Hall of Fly Fish Florida Peacocks hooked us up. Corey Kruitbosch rolled through town on his way to the Keys and took pictures (his will be much better than mine posted here.)   The fish got a little pissed off at being tricked.   Corey also rocked a tilapia.

Tagged: , , ,

The Pond Would Be Good For You

Posted on June 21st, 2010

My buddy’s got a pond just across the way from his house. He rolls a canoe up a path and across the street and takes his son fishing for pickerel, bass, bluegill, sunnies…all the panfish a kid or repressed adolescent could want. We loaded into the canoe and paddled off our hangovers and the Slam breakfast, but all I got to show for it is this grainy picture of a little yellow perch. Hit like a sonofabitch, I tell you.

Tagged: ,

Follow

Get every new post delivered to your Inbox.

Join 28 other followers