
We like the spots.

We like the spots.
I took this picture to disprove the myth. Look a banana on board, while catching fish. Ha ha!
Since I took this picture my magazine got sold and moved to Florida, my cat got messed up, I got tagged doing 80 in a 45, and I broke my best rod hours before my best trip.
I have brought this on myself. As the late great John Belushi said, “that’s not bad luck that’s dumb luck.”
The Last Straw: One of my best buds drunk dials me and I listen to the message for the vicarious value, and he’s doing laundry by himself at midnight because his dog threw up on the bed and his wife is vexed. He is drinking rum and listening to Hootie and the Blowfish. So vile and absurd is the mental imagery that I cannot process it.
Enough. Whatever I did to offend the gods of fishing and sensibility, whatever demons of poor choices in music I have unleashed, I take it back.

How about now?

Can’t believe it’s been over a month since it all went down. Changing out some spent line from a reel I haven’t since used reminded me of it. I looked through my photo records of Andros and this one stuck out.
A stake through the heart, purist.
Props and maybe a free hat* or something to anyone who knows the score.
*(Hat or t-shirt may be slightly used.)

Footwork.

Released.

Smithhammer

If there’s any blogger that should be a part of FIB Fest, it’s the guy who names his blog Bonefish on the Brain.
Bjorn couldn’t join the crew because real life got in the way, but last week he tied a handful of flies and sent them my way. The idea being that if he couldn’t be here, at least his flies could help a brother out.
Caught all my fish today on flies from Bjorn’s vise, with Michael Gracie as witness.
You can see a few more close-ups of my digits in Tosh Brown’s gallery here.
There are actually a lot of pictures of better fly anglers, as it’s the second wave of photos from our in-progress book project. It ain’t about me. It’s about guys like Bob Popovics and the Salty Flyrodders and Jason Puris and John Page Williams. Guys who drop what they’re doing and alter their life patterns around the migrations of fish. And also the guides and conservationists who make it all their life’s work.
We’ve got a couple of more legs to go, and some of us have a couple thousand more words to write, but it’s all good.

Pre-tournament scouting results
The first thing you do is drive west. Past all the planned communities and through the endless horizon of cane fields, some thick with smoke from controlled burn, and make your way to the big lake.
Then drive onto and over the levee and the single lane bridge and meet buddy Don at the launch ramp. Don is a tournament bass fisherman. He’s pre-fishing and you’re going along for the ride, skating at 60 on the pad.

The ride takes you through some tight on the quick.
Don can do some things with a baitcaster in his hand. He’s working the bass in shallow, going off the grid and you’re trying to cast your fly rod in and around the tall grass and strip your so-called weedless through the dense vegetation.

Hitting on the Gambler.
The bass key in on that soft Gambler. You can watch them follow your fly back to the boat but only the little button bucks take action. You’ll let Don have all those seven-pounders come tournament time.

Who let that fly rod slide into the quiver?
In the trout and trout art sense, Utah is happening. First, Corey Kruitbosch knocked it out with the recent Drake cover and conceptual fly tying photo-essay.
Then my friend and former colleague Cody (Chris) sends word about how he’s preparing for the upcoming streamer season. The artwork for his new ink comes courtesy of a barter deal with his friend Jason Merkley, a painter of trout. Next is the coloring phase. Cody writes, “It’s supposed to be a Utah cutthroat, which will obviously become more apparent after the telltale slash of red is added.”
The man is not on your side.
