Unrelated email conversations with Jeremy of Flies and Fins and Michael Gracie of, well, Michael Gracie, brought back the memories of a trip that constituted four days of uninterrupted awesomeness. I haven’t gotten to play the tuna game since that trip, though Lord knows we try, but it’s not an everyday–or even every year–happening to have fly-rodable bluefin come into the backyard.
Watch the water rip at 3:18; that pretty much sums up why this is the holy grail of northeast salt. Damn I’m ready for the season.
People ask, what’s the point of having a blog? You don’t make any money. There are, like, a million people doing it, and your words get lost in the clutter. You should be ashamed of yourself you stupid idiot. (That’s just Mom.) And I answer them thusly: Sometimes you get free flies.
A while back I sent Michael Gracie my Drift tickets. As thanks, he just sent me some killer poppers and clousers. [editor's note: I am supposed to share a few with Jason Puris of The Fin but I think I'll just tell him they never showed.] As a side bonus, he sent them along in a reusable plastic sandwich container. Thanks MG, they will be used and abused.
And, as a result of catching a bowfin on fly when I was trying to catch snakeheads, recording it for posterity with a photo, and sending it into the Roughfisher, I have more flies en route. (Photo of the Roughfisher flies to follow soon.)