Traveling Non-Angler Tuesday

Clarity

Saw this post in the NYT blogs. I absolutely loved this part:

My role is just to be a bad influence, the kid standing outside the classroom window making faces at you at your desk, urging you to just this once make some excuse and get out of there, come outside and play. My own resolute idleness has mostly been a luxury rather than a virtue, but I did make a conscious decision, a long time ago, to choose time over money, since I’ve always understood that the best investment of my limited time on earth was to spend it with people I love.

I feel ya, dog...

Three years ago this month, while showering off the shame of a boozy (Sunday) night, I came to a decision to step off the treadmill. I had been downsized "due to current market conditions" the previous December. From the time of the layoff until that July, I sent out CV after CV, resume after resume.

I knew very little about life outside of working. Of course, 'working' to me meant fieldwork: 12-16 hour days, seven days a week, four to six weeks at a time, seven to ten months of the year. It didn't really do anything to encourage learning anything about life outside of work. But I didn't seem to mind, and there I was actively trying to jump right back into it.

A life well wasted is a good life indeed.

It took a minor shame-spiral while showering to have the same clarity as the writer above:

Time > Money

This provided a foundation of a few basic ideas for my navigation of the 21st century:

1. The idea of a job for life is dead & gone. Loyalty to a corporation does not get reciprocated.
2. There's a big difference between what you need to live and what you want/think you need to live.
3. Working for yourself, with multiple sources of income, is far more secure than relying on one and only one income stream.
4. Being busy for the sake of being busy is ridiculous.
5. Cable TV: sucks donkey balls, insults my intelligence, a huge money-suck.
6. Catching fish (and traveling) is more enjoyable than sitting in an office.

I still don't have everything figured out, but those six concepts have guided me well over the past few years.

If only I had the same clarity before buying the Aluminum Bastard...

Mat
- July 1st, 2012


Note: since July, 2009, I have worked as a bartender, geologist, carpenter, bouncer, social media consultant, copywriter, logistician, project manager, music promoter, fly shop employee, Cuppow salesman, fly tyer, guide, t-shirt seller, and writer.

I'm busy when I choose to be busy, and I have yet to starve to death...but if I relied exclusively on promoting music or selling Cuppows or T-shirts, I surely would have...

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Out of Alaska

After numerous attempts, I discovered proper form for redeye flights last night: I fell asleep before we backed away from the gate in Fairbanks and was out cold until the descent into Minneapolis. Brilliant.

Thus closing this Alaskan chapter of my life.

It was a good trip, but the lack of sleep from working night shifts did me in, and yesterday's hunt for pike on my 7wt ended up being more of a snipe hunt.

But there were highlights...

Highlight #5:

• Working night shift that far north was cool and it made for some pretty combination sunsets/sunrises.

Highlight #4:

• Catching my first grayling on the fly. It isn't a technical fishery by any stretch, but they were fun for a diversion. Small flies, light leaders, etc. Pretty fish, too; though I didn't take any pictures save one. I needed the pic for the Species Journal, after all...

Highlight #3:

• This is more a personal thing than an Alaskan thing: I decided on new path for this site. Maybe not a new path; perhaps widening the path is more apt. More on this in a very-near-future post.

Highlight #2b:

• Finding this cabin in the middle of nowhere down a random dirt road while looking for a fishy spot. Something about it brought a smile to the cockles of my heart.

Highlight #2a:

• Seconds after finding the cabin, the realization that I sometimes can't believe I get paid for this.
• This also ties in with Highlight #3...but hours later, while being chewed alive by bugs and being busy as hell, this upbeat attitude diminished slightly. I was still excited about Highlight #3 and the cabin, however.

Highlight #1:

• Being present in the precise moment in space and time to be able to see this:

*          *          *

So that was Alaska. 

Quick shout-outs to:

Matt H - may he have good fortune with his new Sage Largemouth rod & not have anymore minor incidents with company rental trucks.

JR at Big Ray's fly shop - thanks for the help. My inability to roll-cast that robin-sized diver on my 7wt in no way diminished the appreciation I have for time spent giving me directions for the pike hunt.

*          *          *

Here's a tune.

Appropriate title, considering I'm on the verge of wandering over to the complimentary bar to fix one for myself. Aeroplan Elite status has its perks.

A day of work

Like everyone nowadays, I often get asked, "What do you do?" If the person doesn't seem the sort to comprehend my typical 'semi-retired country gentleman' response, I answer truthfully: I say geology, or more specifically, geotechnical data collection. 

At this point, the person's eyes will glaze over, or they respond along the lines of, "So, like, do you like rocks or something?"

Ummm. No. No great love affair with rocks. I do, however, dislike the idea of working every week, Monday to Friday, 9am to 5pm, for 50 weeks of the year, stuck in a grey or off-white coloured box.

Here's a typical day in the life of me working. Even some of my closest friends haven't got an inside look in this sort of detail...mostly because they'd find it boring as hell...

Sorry, but there's no sort of industry secrets or proprietary/confidential information. And the numbers are the 24-hour clock. Google it if you don't understand it.

Happy Gilmore as a geologist (from back in Ought-Six)

1643 - I wake up with a gasp. A feeling of panic. I grab my phone to check the time, thinking I overslept. Then I feel ripped off for having missed out on the twenty-two minutes of sleep I could have had before the alarm was scheduled to go off. I hear the damn helicopter, which was what probably woke me up. Sounds like the Hughes 500; its rotor noise is a bit higher pitch than the A-Star. I curse the helicopter and lay my head back down on the pillow.

1650 - Off to the bathroom. I brush my teeth & contemplate the bags under my eyes. I contemplate the two-week beard that has accumulated. It's itchy, but laziness outweighs the desire to be itch-free. This project hasn't been bad enough to warrant drastic measures such as shaving my face and/or head. I'm certain Britney Spears stole the head-shaving idea from a geologist pushed over the edge. I know several who've done it. Including myself.

1655 - Back to the room. Open my laptop to check email. Gmail first to see if anything fun or useful has come down the pipe. Perhaps something from Capital O to say the Aluminum Bastard was stolen from the yard, or to say my cheque from an invoice submitted on April 27th has arrived. No such luck. I browse through emails, deleting, responding or archiving as I go. I'm a believer in the OHIO Method: Only Handle It Once. It keeps my inbox empty, which I get an inordinate amount of pleasure from.

I check Facebook to see if my lovely girlfriend has written to say hi. Six notifications pop up, but I don't check them. Not high enough on the priority list just yet. I write a quick message to Becky to say I miss her. Hopefully she writes back before I have to head to the project site.

Next is the work account. This I click open with a feeling of impending doom: if there's no new messages, I'm either doing something right, or they haven't looked over the data yet. Either way is good. Perhaps there's a message about an upcoming project assignment. This would be good, as long as it isn't in July or early September. There aren't any messages. I close the browser tab, slightly relieved.

I finish up on the laptop with a quick look at the Facebook notifications and new mentions on Tweetdeck, responding as necessary. I see a picture of a nice redfish someone posted. I post the following on twitter:

This is a tongue-in-cheek shout out to the late Billy Pate. I hope people get the joke. I know my life isn't  too rough. I'm surly due to lack of sleep but otherwise in good spirits.

I wish it was me holding that redfish, though.

I check the charge on my iPod & Kobo e-reader. Satisfied with both, I disconnect them and close the laptop.

1735 - I stroll over to the kitchen, enjoying the sun and apparent lack of mosquitoes. I pack my lunch: turkey on whole wheat for the thirteenth night in a row. It's the easiest and fastest to make. I grab some beef jerky, a fruit cup and two packages of Welch's Fruit Snacks. They're awesome: like ju-jubes but with more vitamin C. Brilliant, Welch family. Brilliant. 

Lunch is supplemented with two bottles of water and a can of Red Bull. Sometimes I take a can of sweet tea, but not tonight. Too much sugar in that shit.

I don't eat supper. The idea of meatloaf, chicken pot pie, hot roast beef, or whatever variation of salty gravy they're serving doesn't appeal to me for my first meal of the day. I'm sure the food is extremely good, but I'm not a regular eater of the hearty 'meat and potatoes' fare typically served on project sites. Nothing personal, it's just not my thing...especially for breakfast.

I pour myself warm cup of coffee-like liquid and wander back outside carrying my lunch bag. I'm enjoying the sun.

1750 - I use the bathroom. I'm blessed with amazing regularity, which is a good thing in this business. I'm not a huge fan of having mosquitoes bombing my ass & riggin' like Japanese Zeros at Pearl Harbour while I lean against a tree. I developed a wariness of doing number two outside twelve years ago, when, after a booze- and chicken wing-fueled night of debauchery led to an extremely close call with a wasp nest the next day while collecting groundwater samples near the local landfill. It's amazing how fast a person can shuffle and hop away with their pants around their ankles.

1800 -  Quick check of Facebook again to see if Becky wrote me. She did. This makes me happy. I tell her I'm off to work and I love her with all my heart. I tell her to have a good sleep. I close the laptop.

1810 - Into the still-damp boots and the muddy coveralls that could stand on their own. This is for the fifteenth night in a row. I could (and should) wash the coveralls, but, like putting the razor to my face, laziness wins out.

1815 - I pop into the field office to say hi. Ask the summer student how the water levels are on the creek running behind the camp. Ask if he's caught anything. I grumble about fishing only 25 minutes since I arrived. He chuckles at my quip about my Alaskan fishing license costing me about $435 an hour. We say "see ya later" and I hop in to the truck. I wince when I glance at my fishing gear at the back seat. "Tomorrow," I say to myself.

1825 - Following the camp's posted 10mph speed limit, I slowly roll over to the staging area and load up a couple dozen empty core boxes, double-checking to make sure they don't fly out once I get moving on the highway.

1830 - I pull up to the security checkpoint at the entrance. A head pops out the door. After giving my name, company & destination, I drive off. The first two security guards were cheerful & talkative. This dude, while pleasant, seems like a good candidate for the TFSA: formal and to the point.

Once away from camp, I can tune into the radio station from Fairbanks, 104.7 The Edge. Alt-rock stuff. Lots of Pearl Jam and other early 90s Seattle stuff. No Nickelback. No Rush. I did hear a Tragically Hip tune once a few nights earlier. I am completely OK with this. The fact they played the Hip gives me hope for at least a small segment of Alaska. My mind wanders, though my eyes are alert for moose along the road. This is for both self-preservation and Instagram reasons.

I wonder what kind of day they had on the site. I wonder what kind of night I will have.

It's a Catch-22: a big night means we'll finish faster, and I'll get home to my girlfriend, dog, friends and the Aluminum Bastard sooner. A big night also means eating my turkey on whole wheat on the fly and barely having time to shake off after having a piss. There are a significant amount of data fields to measure and enter, and when the core is coming at a fast rate, it's hectic.

A slowish night means ample time to process the core before the next run is brought to you. It means being able to take time to make a double-shot with the Aeropress. It means sitting down to eat the turkey on whole wheat. It means being able to read (or, heaven forbid, write) for a few minutes at a time.

But a slow night also means more time to finish, and therefore more time until I get home to my girlfriend, dog, friends and the Aluminum Bastard.

By the time the radio station cuts out behind the hill, I settle on hoping for a medium night. I switch to four-wheel drive and start up the hill, enjoying the view along the way.

1850 - Onsite. I chat with the day shift geologist and ask how his shift went. We discuss our health & safety topic for the day ("Use proper lifting techniques.") My drill crew does the same with their day shift. The day shift shuffle off to their trucks for the drive back to camp. I ask the driller what's shaking. We both concur to some variation of "git 'er done" and the drill fires up.

1900 - For the next 12 hours I alternate between being busier than a one-legged man in an ass-kicking contest to being able to sit in solitude for 20 minutes to contemplate life. I bang out the 270-odd pages of The Cellist of Sarajevo, the majority one paragraph at a time while standing. I make a few rounds of double-shots with the Aeropress to help get me through the night. I have my turkey on whole wheat, eating the last two bites while measuring core.

I'm not diving into the technical aspects of my shift. For one, because I'm probably not allowed, but mostly because they will bore people to death (unless you're a structure dork). I'll say this: at the end of 95% of my shifts, I feel the client has received good value for the money ( the 5% I attribute to drill breakdowns & other downtime; these things are out of my control but I still gotta get paid).

The shift was medium-big. I'm ok with this.

0700 - Morning chat with the day shift completed and I'm in the truck heading down the hill. I'm bagged. It was chilly throughout the night with periodic rain. My coveralls are covered in a fresh layer of mud and grime. My feet are soaked and cold.

I think of the hot breakfast waiting for me and command myself to limit the bacon intake. I think about how much closer I am to getting home to my girlfriend, dog, friends...and the Aluminum Bastard. I think about what might be awaiting on the work email account. I curse the Alaskan time zone that gives people a couple hours to conceive emails prior to me finishing the shift. I look at the view while driving, but still my eyes stay alert for moose on the side of the road. For self-preservation and Instagram reasons.

"Shit. I'm tired," I mumble to myself.

It's past 0730 when I approach the driveway to the camp. Just down the road is access to the creek. I have my fishing gear in the truck. It's easy wading. There are grayling longing for my #16 Elk Hair Caddis to drift by on the current., I just know it.

The lure of hot food, dry socks and sleep is too much.

"Tomorrow," I say.

0930 - Breakfast is in my belly, messages are read and responded to, teeth are brushed, dry socks procured. I know I should sit down and write something, but the bed is calling my name. Laziness wins again. As I lay my head down on the pillow, I miss the comfortable bed at our apartment. I miss my girlfriend. I miss my dog. I mentally calculate the number of days it will take to finish this last hole. Satisfied with the number, I start drifting off to sleep.

1007 - I open my eyes. Heavy equipment is apparently playing twirling fartknockers. In reverse gear. The incessant beeps bore into my brain. I wish something painful but not too serious to befall the operators and their managers. Stubbed toes or hornet stings would suffice. Eventually they move to another part of camp. In reverse. I fall back asleep.

1041 - The sound of the helicopter wakes me up. It's the A-Star this time, I'm sure of it. By the sound of the rotors and the length of time it's been hovering, I'm guessing they're slinging something. It moves away after a few minutes

1118 -  I wake up again. Some tool is clunking down the hallway in boots and whistling. Times like this I wish I was not a (polite) visiting consultant. My Canadian-ness doesn't prevent me from telling him to shut the fuck up, but my quasi-professional demeanour does. Fucker.

1312 - The helicopter again. I'm too drowsy to distinguish whether it's the 500 or the A-Star. I start hating my life.

1418 - Voices. One of them is loud; it's female and has an echo to it. Cleaning staff in the bathroom. I put the pillow over my head and mumble about something or someone "having mercy on me."

1648 - I wake up with a gasp. A feeling of panic. I grab my phone to check the time, thinking I overslept. Then I feel ripped off for having missed out on the seven minutes of sleep I could have had before the alarm went off.

Fifteen hours later, I'm standing knee-deep in the creek. The flow is up and the water is brown. I don't care. I'm fishing. The off-chance a fish might take my fly is what made me drive past the camp's driveway at 0730.

But that's not what keeps me staying well past my bedtime. It's the realization I'm going to be kept awake by the damn helicopters anyway, so I might as well fish.

A rut in the Last Frontier

"Just go behind the kitchen, walk along the fence until you reach a gate. The river is right there."

It's true. The river is right there. About 2 minutes' walk from where I type this.

"The river was there." Ernest Hemingway, Big Two-Hearted River

I'm willing to trade sleep for fishing. I've done it before. Loads of times. When I was bartending, it was a fact of life: finish counts & cash out, grab gear, grab coffee and go. Fish most of the day, and repeat.

But not this time. I'm gonna sit this one out.

Sleep deprivation and high, fast, chocolate-coloured water aren't my thing just yet.

Give me another three or four days to reach a sufficient level of desperation and depression.

West Fork of the Tolovana River, near Livengood, AK

Video streaming websites are blocked on this project. I blame drillers and their porn sites. It's always the drillers' fault. Unfortunately this means no tunes appended to posts. If you need a music recommendation, go listen to Matthew Good's Lights of Endangered Species. It's good. Trust me.

Random Nunavut post, S01E02

NOTE: I'm trying out a new layout on this, via Blogger's Dynamic Views. I'd really appreciate your input on how it looks/acts/feels/etc. 


Some of you who follow along on my Instagram & Twitter feeds (both '@mattrevors') or tumblr page (or even the dreaded Facebook) may have seen these pics already, but I thought I'd post a few here.

As I frequently make public, I'm an ardent anti-winter person. Hate cold, hate ice, wish to live in Florida with white pants pulled up to my armpits & fish all the time, and so on & so forth.

Needless to say, I was completely horrified a little apprehensive about coming within a degree or so of the Arctic Circle in mid-April.

Surprisingly, the project location wasn't all that nightmarish. I missed home (as usual) and its mild weather (as expected), but food was good, accommodations ok, and people onsite were extremely pleasant & friendly...unlike other jobs I've been on (*cough* Saskatchewan *cough*).

I'm hoping to get back in the summer at some point, with fly rods in tow. I fly through Yellowknife, which is situated on a decent-sized lake and apparently has some pike that need introducing to my Redington 10wt. And there are grayling, trout & char present in the vicinity of this project site.

Hopefully the company I'm contracted to doesn't mind me being seconded to the client as official fishing guide/gear-lender for VIP tours of the property. Conveniently, one of the helicopter pilots has just started fly fishing & tying, too. A few flies and casting & tying lessons might be bartered for flight time.

Here are some pics...

This thing is almost cool enough to make winter enjoyable

Ample fly tying materials available, should I run low

C-130 Hercules on landing strip if lake ice, unloading bulldozers at sunrise

Any fans of the show 'Ice Pilots' will recognize this bird

Feel free to check out lots more travel & fishing pics on The Angler's Android and look me up on twitter.

You can also subscribe to this feed via the Feedburner subscription box on the pop-out sidebar on the right.

Random Nunavut Post

So yeah..I'm in Nunavut. Within 1° of the Arctic Circle.

It's cold. It's snow- & ice-covered. It's treeless.

And Arctic foxes keep mocking me by not giving me an opportunity to take off my gloves, rummage through various pockets in my four layers of clothing to find my iPod or phone to snap an Instagram pic of them.

If one of them gets run over by the Hercules aircraft that keeps landing in the middle of the night on the ice runway, you better believe I'll do my best to give it a haircut for my tying supplies...

...if there's anything left of it.

Enjoy a tune:

The Land of the Ice and Snow

I managed to make it out on opening day for a couple hours, didn't catch anything, then, just as quickly, emptied my truck of all my gear for the next few weeks.

I'm in the midst of packing for a project site that's within a degree or so of the Arctic Circle in Nunavut. It was -23°C there yesterday.

I guess I'll break my rule of never traveling without a fly rod for this trip.

On the bright side, this is probably the farthest north anyone has ever tied tarpon & bonefish flies...

Lazy-ass video post

Time/Date: 2050 CST, 09-Jan-12
Location: Nuevo Balsas, Mexico

So, yeah. I'm in Mexico for the next three weeks.

I'll be working night shifts with sporadic wifi coverage, so expect some irregular posting schedules...more than usual, even.

In the meantime, check out this quick & easy but bad-ass pike fly (*cough* muskie fly *cough*) tying video from McFluffChucker:

Back to School

If you have read my twitter feed in the past week or so, this will be old news. But for those of you who aren't in the twitter loop...

I'm going back to school.

No, not the time & money-sucking post-secondary academics that I already battled through...spent over $40K on...successfully completed, but a more enjoyable and artful return to academic life.

Study materials I can really get behind...

I'm talking about the FFF's CCI program.

FFF = Federation of Fly Fishers

CCI = Certified Casting Instructor

Successful completion of this intensive self-study program & exam will permit me to put all those letters after my name.

Funny enough, I don't put those other letters after my name very often. Really not sure why that is...

I've been in touch with a casting instructor already to discuss a few things (thanks, Dean!) & get a few tips, which was pretty awesome.

After talking to Rich via email, I pretty much decided attending the exam session being offered in March was f**king insanity overly optimistic. My timeline for this is, for the most part, my own, but I want to get it done sooner rather than later.

Unfortunately he doesn't have any tips (outside of schnapps) for nutting-up to go outside to practice casting in -25°C weather...

(Quick update: it was super-ass mild here the last couple days. This keeps up & I'll be using the city's outdoor rink in Officers' Square as a casting pond)

Unfortunately going back to school won't involve this...this time at least...

Enjoy some tunes:

On ending slumps.

Time/Date: 2220, 10-Oct-11
Location: Yellow Pine, Idaho

A picture says a thousand words.

A picture of a tweet with a picture says 2000 words...plus up to 140 characters on top of that...

Three fish brought to hand during a 45 minute lunch break. Slump over.

Thank you, Idaho.

And to Matt for sending me here to work.

Now to fish more to justify that $96 fishing license.

On slumps.

Time/Date: 2300 MST, 06-Oct-11
Location: Yellow Pine, Idaho

I'll be honest: this post might not apply to the occasional weekend warrior that fishes every second or third Saturday morning for a few hours. I understand (without any sort of prejudice at all) that, while you enjoy fishing, it's not high on the priority list; wives/kids/jobs/household chores/whatever have to be attended to before fishing can be even thought of.

This post is more for the three or four or more times a week guys & gals that are obsessed with fly fishing. Out on the water, fishing hard, for hours on end, for days at a time.

And not catching anything.

My recent (current?) slump started precisely when I released my second Atlantic salmon ever. Which happened approximately 15 minutes after I released my first Atlantic salmon ever. I was feeling pretty good about myself (you can read about it here).

Two days later, I was back at it again.

Cast. Mend. Swing. Step. Repeat.

Hours go by, but, hey, this worked the other day. I did my homework. There were fish around, too; they were jumping throughout the run & the pool. A tug! Damn, it didn't take. Oh well, there's fish around, though!

This is the first stage of slumps: overconfidence, bordering on delusion. It's almost karma that a slump is starting.

Cast. Mend. Swing. Step. Repeat.

Days go by. Changed flies. Changed leaders. Changed spools. Adjusted speed of swing. Started dead-drifting bombers. Flies are changed more frequently. Back to swinging.

Slump, stage two: self-doubt.

Cast. Mend. Swing. Step. Repeat.

Rain for a couple days didn't stop me, nor did the high water from the rain. But it slowed me down. And I started swearing.

The fish are still jumping, though. All over the place.

Stage three: annoyance

Cast (casts start falling apart).

Mend (and mend and mend and mend...and yank the fly out of the fish's mouth).

Swear (did I mention I'm now swearing aloud, and fishing by myself? Great for tourism...).

Swing (fly's hung up on a boulder...give it a tug...fish comes up with it...the fly comes loose in midair).

Swear (again).

Step (and slip).

Swear (again),

Repeat (for 12 out of 15 days).

Stage four: anger & self-loathing.

********

Based on numerous experiences, in life and in fishing, firsthand or secondhand, the following are possible outcomes from here:

• the slumping angler finally catches his fish, and falls to his knees sobbing with tears of joy & elation;
• the slumping angler tells off all the Atlantic salmon (and, inadvertently, the two elderly anglers) within earshot, and goes fly fishing for smallmouth;
• the slumping angler, in a moment of frustration, purposely makes his Helios rod from a 4-piece rod to a 12-piece rod;
• the slumping angler, tired of seeing photos of fish in magazines, books a flight, hotel & guide in New Orleans for sight fishing for redfish.

Wanna guess what two-and-a-half out of four outcomes I've done?
(hint: I don't own an Orvis rod).

********

This is the part that might lose me a few fans...well, I don't have any fans, but it'll probably cause a few people to think of me differently.

The following are things I hold to be true, and they tie in quite well with slumps:

"Well, you know...it's just being out there, enjoying the fresh air and nature and stuff...."

Bollocks.

If I wanted to just enjoy fresh air and nature and "stuff," I would own a backpack and a pair of hiking boots, and that's it. Or maybe a bicycle. Or maybe I'd go sit on a park bench with some breadcrumbs for birds.

I would not own a 3-weight, a 5-weight, a 6-weight, an 8-weight (4-piece), an 8-weight (5-piece), an 8-weight (2-piece fiberglass), a 10-weight, and a 12-weight. I would not be standing privates-deep in 50°F water in the rain in 25mph wind gusts. I would not be collecting Aeroplan & Alaska Air points like some sicko hoarder from reality television for future fishing adventures & schemes.

I do this because the pulse of energy, transmitted from leader to line to rod to me, when a fish takes my fly, is my crack-cocaine.

I fish to catch fish. It's what I live for (now).

And then I let them go. All of them.

"You know what they say: a bad day fishin' is better than the best day at work!"

I say this one myself sometimes. For me, it's largely true: I'd rather fish and get skunked than be at work.

But when it's howling wind, sideways rain, four or five degrees above freezing, and there's a better shot of not catching a fish than catching one...add in waking up at 4AM, spending over $100 on gas (and $35 on beef jerky?!) in three days, arguing with your girlfriend about fishing, losing flies, and chipping your windshield....

...maybe it's just better for you to go to work.

"10% of the anglers catch 90% of this fish."

I don't know if this is true or not.

If it is, I want to be in that 10%. Honestly, I want to be even better than that.

I'm not there...yet. But I'm trying my damnedest by learning one or two new things to help me reach that goal each day.

It's just this effin' slump is getting in my way.

"You can't catch anything without a hook in the water."

Yup.

That's why I go fishing in howling wind, sideways rain, when it's four or five degrees above freezing, and there's a better shot of not catching a fish than catching one. And why I don't mind waking up at 4AM, spending over $100 on gas and $35 on beef jerky in three days; and I deal with arguing with my girlfriend about fishing, losing flies, and chipping my windshield....

Rocks & Rawkin' Blues

Time/Date: 1745, 03-Sep-11
Location: Northern Saskatchewan (still)

No fishing adventures to speak of since the pike.

I've been up to my eyeballs in rocks.

Here's a little taste of what's been playing on my iPod while I've been slaving away on the rock pile:

Ross & his bastards are local guys, and they bring the rawk. Without a doubt, at any given time those guys are on a cross-country tour (tour dates here). They are musicians that work hard at what they do, and they're definitely worth going to see.

We all bonded over the booze back in the day, when I used to sling drinks at Lava Vodka Lounge. In fact, we hosted the after-party for his CD release bash for the Redemption album. 

It was a pretty easy friendship: I made drinks, they drank them; I like hard-rawkin', whisky-chuggin', bar-brawlin' type blues, and that's what they play. A match made in heaven...if heaven was full of this type of people...

You can follow along with the boys at rossneilsen.com. Ross is also on twitter, @rossneilsen.

And I highly recommend you get their album. You can find it on itunes here.

I'll have some fishy updates (hopefully) real soon.

Random Saskatchewan Post (Lots of fishing content, though!)

Time/Date: 2155 CST, 17-Aug-11
Location: Northern, Northern Saskatchewan

This project has been a little busier than normal for me. You see, I'm not sitting a drill rig this time; I've made it to the big-time: I'm the Site Senior Supervisor on this project. So hours are a little longer & more erratic.

But, there's always a positive, and that is a month or so (at least) off after this one is done.

A month to hang with my girl, my friends & my dog.

A month to work on (more) fun projects (at home).

And, of course, a month to fish.

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Speaking of fishing, a few of the client's crew took me out fishing the other night. They figured, since I was wearing my Redington Logo t-shirt, that I would appreciate something like that whole 'going fishing' thing.

(Note #1: add Saskatchewan to Ontario, British Columbia, Nova Scotia and, of course, New Brunswick to the list of provinces I've fished in so far in 2011. That's kinda cool.)

(Note #2: remind me to never, ever leave home without a fly rod ever again)

So off we went.

And I hooked a pike on my first cast (not picture-worthy, however). And then I caught another one (also not picture-worthy).

The third pike I caught was picture worthy.

I was using borrowed spin gear & lures with a treble hook. I wanted to pinch the barbs but I didn't think the owner would've appreciated it too much upon its return.

It took me so long to unhook the pike from the treble hook (it felt like forever to me. Maybe 90 seconds, but far too long for my liking) that I couldn't bring myself to put the fish through a photo session. I rushed it back to the water, it gave a tail-wag, and it was gone.

Really cool aspect of it though: I was wearing my Costas I won from Joe at SoCal Salty's contest in the spring, and I had a clear view of the pike shooting from cover like a lightning bolt to strike the lure. The fish covered the 7 or so feet in a split-second and cranked the lure, total ambush-style. Awesomeness.

(Note #3: I would normally link to Joe's site. You'll see why I didn't in the next section)

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Speaking of Joe of SoCal Salty, he of the epic Costa Sunglasses contest: he and Jon from iFished are running a contest in cahoots with Panamax Sailfishing for a trip to Guatemala for...you guessed it, sailfish.

I've been entering everyday.

It has already paid off, as I won the first weekly draw: a shirt from Red Tuna shirts.

I'm not giving you the link for the contest entry form. I really want to win this thing, so you gotta earn it. If you enter, it's one more competitor for me. But....

...you can visit either Jon's or Joe's sites for details.

Use your brains to get there. Or at least google.

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Fishpond's Road Trip tying kit

I brought my tying kit with me, but I've yet to unpack it. This will hopefully change really soon.

One little piece of gear recommendation: Fishpond's Road Trip fly tying travel bag. It's fairly compact, but I have everything I need jammed in there. With some room (& pockets/pouches) to spare.

And here's another little tying nugget:

An unexpected benefit to my beautiful girlfriend studying to be an esthetician: abundant leftover nail polish for foam & cork bass poppers. Plus advice in the form of "this base coat will make the polish stick better, and this topcoat helps waterproof it & make it resistant to chipping." Brilliant.

So hopefully a few pictures of glossy bass poppers will be gracing this website fairly soon.

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I'm saving a few other short, random things to post in the future, in case I find myself with a spare 15 minutes or so between looking at rocks or drill rigs or spreadsheets.

Enjoy some music (shout out to Matt for reminding me of these guys).

Click here if you can't see the video below.

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Where the efff....?

Time/Date: 2115 CST, 12-Aug-11
Location: N. Sask.

Remember Where In The World Is Carmen Sandiego? Or perhaps Where's Waldo?

The modern incarnation, for the past 15 months, could definitely be Where The Eff Is Mat?

A recap:

• Northern Ontario
• Montreal, PQ
• Burkina Faso
• Eastern Shore, NS
• New Orleans, LA
• Senegal
• London, England
• Guerrero State, Mexico
• Northern Saskatchewan
• Timmins, ON
• Northern British Columbia
• Vancouver, BC
• Minas Basin, NS

And now...

Fun times. Never a dull moment.

Or, in driller-speak, Living The Dream.

On a sad note: apparently the fishing here is great. Walleyes & pike. I don't have any fly gear here; I'm gonna have to use (*gasp*) spin/bait casting gear. So sad...

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Project Site Tying Bench

I got a little creative one night during some downtime on the drill rig.

Definitely one of the more random places I had ever tied a fly. Quite...rustic...?

'Twas productive, though; it was the first time I had ever sat down & tied 5 flies in a row without interruption.

Enjoy the tune...

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Random BC Post v4.0

Time/Date: 0820 PST, 20-Jul-11
Location: BC

Another project is just about in the books. Some last-minute laundry & packing remains.

My reputation (career?) as a semi-retired country gentleman (that said semi-retired, not semi-retarded, btw) is can definitely be challenged; I've spent almost 16 weeks on project sites so far in 2011.

Oh well, student loans don't pay themselves (unless you finished university after I did; then the government seemingly throws money at you with all their looney 'Come/Stay the F**K Home' grants).

NBD*, however.

It all plays into the master plan...

Looks easy enough...

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Fishing note:
Derek from Frontier FarWest emailed me to say river conditions were probably going to be tough for my trip for Chinook tomorrow.

Another NBD...

I'm well-versed in The Skunkening.

I've had many. Probably will have many more (especially if I keep chasing muskie).

As the saying goes, a bad day of fishin' is better than the best day of workin'.

We'll see how it all plays out tomorrow.


'*' - No Big Deal

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The Gulag

Time/Date: 0635 PST, 06-Jul-11
Location: A Top-Secret Alpine Facility, British Columbia (near the Alaskan border)

I'd like to tell you where I am, but I'm not really sure. Things got confusing after leaving Smithers, BC.

I landed on a gravel runway and this scary woman started going through our bags for drugs, alcohol, weapons...

...and apparently fly fishing gear, as well.

That's right. My stuff was confiscated.

I went along with it, but now, seeing I'm probably closer to the moon than I am fishable water...it's a little ridiculous.

I'm totally surrounded by snow-capped mountains & glaciers. It's actually quite scenic and I'd love to show you a picture, but we're not permitted to take photos of the project site to post on social media sites such as "Facebook, Twitter, MySpace, Hi-5..." (when the hell did they write that policy? And what the f**k is Hi-5?)

So this black-ops fly fishing trip they assume I'd go on if I had retained possession of my 3 rods & reels is pretty much out of the question, unless I commandeered a helicopter as well.

But it's policy.

I will get my gear back, of course, when I leave. That is, if it doesn't go missing. If it does, that's my problem, as they're "not responsible for any and all lost or stolen property." How do you think that possible scenario would play out for them?

Potential CBC headline: "Numerous People Kicked in Groin By NB Geologist Over Fly Fishing Gear"

For those unawares, I took on this project pretty much just to get a flight to northern BC to fish once the project is over & to visit friends in Vancouver on the way back home. The irony of potentially losing my gear before I got to fish is not lost on me. Not one little bit.

I will someday soon declare war on these legal-beagle types that draft up all these ridiculous rules, regulations, bylaws, laws, policies and any other name they go by. Kidney punches for all!

By governing to the lowest common denominator, the people who draft these policies breed out common sense, independent thought & creativity.

Then again, maybe that's what 'they' want...

I'd rather embed some new music...but we're not allowed to stream music or video here, either.

The quality of this one, if I remember correctly, is pretty good:

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Musical Interlude... (v2.0)

Time/Date: 0645, 29-Jun-11
Location: Timmins, ON

A quick post to show I'm still (barely) alive. This project has been a little intense. In fact, one could say I've been busier than a one-legged man in an ass-kicking contest.

I brought trout + bass flies & my 5wt set-up. I brought my vice & a bit of tying material. I even bought a new 2011 Ontario fishing license.

Haven't used any of them yet. Not sure if I will get a chance, either.

Countdown is on, however; I'll be home tomorrow night at midnight.

Now if I will only be able to sleep before then...

Here's some music:

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