Announcement: Launch of Traveling Angler Tuesdays

I am very excited to announce the launch of Traveling Angler Tuesdays here at 411#3, starting this Tuesday (June 26th)

If you caught the Out of Alaska post yesterday, you might recall seeing mention of a new path (or, more accurately, a widening of an existing path) for the site. Well, this is it.

I travel a lot. I fish a lot. I carry gear with me when I travel. I know I can share a few tips, tricks and gear reviews to help out both beginner and experienced traveling anglers alike.

So starting this Tuesday, and every Tuesday after it, there will be a new post to inform, entertain and enlighten you, the Traveling Angler.

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To kick off Traveling Angler Tuesdays, I enlisted the help of Dylan Rose of Fly Water Travel LLC and proceeded to pester him with lots of questions about fishing, traveling, working at Fly Water Travel, guiding Gierach and playing jazz.

So click over on Tuesday, June 26th to read my interview with Dylan!

To find out more about this tarpon & the guy holding it, check out the interview with Dylan on Tuesday!

Enter your email address to subscribe (I will never, ever spam, sell or trade your email address):

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:

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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.

Bipolar

That whole sunset-sunrise thing that happens in the span of 35 minutes here in Alaska confuses the hell out of me: I know not whether to take warning, or feel delight.

Meh, last time I checked, I'm no sailor...especially with the dry-docked-in-my-friend's-driveway Aluminum Bastard as my vessel of choice.

********
Still no fishing to be had. The joys of night shifts.

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.

#FrederictonHasA(Fishing)Scene

This article originally appeared as the Faces Outdoors column in the May 2012 issue of Faces Fredericton, a local lifestyle & entertainment magazine that features those who partake in the city’s nightlife, dining, shopping and entertainment events in and about Fredericton.

Saint John River smallmouth, caught in Fredericton

Click to visit Faces Fredericton

Something that seems to regularly surprise people I speak with about fly fishing is when I tell them where my favourite spot in New Brunswick to chase fish is: Fredericton

The reactions are varied, ranging from mild shock (“Fredericton?!?”) to receiving a look one might get if they had just sprouted a second head from their neck. Once I explain myself, however, they’re usually asking me to take them fishing.

Sadly, it seems some people here in Fredericton view the Saint John River only as an obstacle to get across during rush hour, but unbeknownst to many residents of our fair city, the waters of the Saint John River hold big fish. Trophy fish, such as four-pound smallmouth bass, muskie over a meter long, and the powerful striped bass, some weighing over forty pounds.

Of these three piscatorial local residents, my favourite is the smallmouth. While the number of people chasing ‘smallies’ or ‘bronzebacks’ on a fly rod here might be on the small side; throughout North America, smallmouth fly fishing fans number in the tens of thousands. Kirk Deeter, an editor at Field & Stream magazine, called them “the ultimate fly rod fish” in an online article in June, 2011.

Smallmouth had big fans way back in the day, too: “Inch for inch, pound for pound, (they are) the gamest fish that swims,” wrote Dr. James Henshaw. Back in the day in this case means 1881, that is.

I can say not much has changed in how much fun can be had chasing smallies on the fly rod. And I must not be alone, for even super-high-end rod manufacturer Sage makes a $550 rod for them...and it’s on its second, updated version!

Smallmouth bass are native to the Great Lakes, St. Lawrence River and the upper Mississippi River, but due to stocking programs in the late 1800s, they are found in all ten provinces and every state except Alaska & Florida in the USA.

New Brunswick was first stocked with smallmouth in about 1870, and they have since thrived here. In fact, prolific smallmouth angler, guide and author Tim Holschlag consistently puts the Saint John River in his list of top 100 smallmouth locations in North America, and we’re regularly featured in Outdoor Canada’s annual list of top fishing spots in Canada.

If you’re a new to fly fishing, or attempting to help someone get started in fly fishing, smallmouth bass are the answer, for two main reasons:
1. they are (usually) very willing to eat.
2. they fight like green demons once they’re hooked, with multiple jumps and rod-bending runs for cover.

Besides, if you only have 4 hours to fish after dinner, do you really want to spend two of those hours driving to & from Boiestown or Doaktown?

Save the gas money & give fly fishing for smallmouth in Fredericton a chance; once you’re hooked up with a couple pounds of bronze fury, you won’t regret it.

Birth of a Tournament Angler

Moments before the starting horn.
Downtown Fredericton in background

This past Saturday I participated in my second-ever bass tournament.

In last year's tournament I mostly used spinning gear until we caught our limit. I had fun, and I managed to catch my first bass on the fly late into the day.

Fast forward 13 months: a lot has changed since that first smallie on the fly, with the one of the biggest changes being smallmouth usurping trout as my favourite local fly rod species.

I had been pretty excited about the tournament for the past few months. But it had nothing to do with money, nor did I expect to win it; if anything, I just wanted to prove an angler could compete in a tournament using fly gear (without embarrassing himself, of course).

The event was being held by the Fredericton Anglers Club, a local group that holds five for-fun tournaments per year. 'For-fun' means exactly that: it costs $10 per person for an annual membership, and $10 per boat for each of the tournament.

The lead-up to tournament day wasn't without hiccups, however: my truck had fallen ill and was unable to tow my boat to get a spring tune-up. And my partner Pat had his boat trailer's axle snap while towing the boat a few days prior to the tournament.

Then there was the weather. A cold front was scheduled to move through, with wind gusts shooting up to 45km/h throughout the day. Not necessarily the best conditions to be flinging a fly line back & forth.

But Pat's trailer axle was fixed in time, and I rigged up a spinning rod as a worse-case solution to deal with high wind speeds. We were good to go.

The morning of, I woke up a few minutes before the alarm on my phone went off. It's funny how anticipation causes that to happen as often as it does. After getting the dog fed & out for a quick stroll, I grabbed my pre-rigged rods and backpack and was off.

When I pulled into Carleton Park, I was a little surprised at the number of boats, either in the water already or lined up for the launch.

The boats (and sometimes, matching trucks) always amaze me, especially when you compare them to the love-hate relationship I have with the Magnificent Basstard. I have less than $5000 tied up in the aluminum bastard, including purchase price, registration, accessories and boater safety course. Some of these guys have 8-10 times that amount tied up into their boats & gear...that blows my mind!

Looking around the parking lot and boat launch, I started to hope I could meet the goal of not embarrassing myself. It's about setting the bar high, folks...

Pat & I decided to have a more relaxed start to our competition: we weren't even in the water for the starting horn. We could barely hear ourselves think with the roar of some of the boats taking off; some guys were not letting the price of gas get in the way of a quick launch.

Meanwhile, back on terra firma, coffee was sipped while we loaded our gear on his boat. Ten minutes after the starting horn howled, we shoved off at a leisurely pace, bound for fishing fun & glory.

It was a good day.

And at no point did I feel embarrassed. By any stretch of the word.

I look forward to the next tournament.

Stats for the Day:

• Winners' total length: 90.5"
• Winning lunker: 19"
• Total prize: $170
• Our boat total: 67"
• Biggest of the boat: 16.5" (shown at left)

Flies:

• Top fly: #4 Clouser, all-white (3 bass, including one 15" scrapper)
• Lunker fly: Barr's Meat Whistle (16.5" bass)

Rods: 

• Redington Predator 7'10", 6wt, with Redington Rise 5/6 reel & Rio Smallmouth line.
• Cabela's CGR 7'6", 7/8wt, with Hardy Ultralite 7000DD reel & Sage Performance Bluegill line

FFF - Federation of Fantastic Fridays

A distinct lack of interwebz in my new apartment has hindered any & all attempts at posting since last week's Friday Post of Randomness.

Add in moving, fishing, unpacking, etc., and all of a sudden, sitting down for an hour results more in symptoms of narcolepsy than words on paper...or screen.

So this routine should seem a little familiar: go grab a coffee, sit back and relax. It is Friday, after all; it's not like you're actually working.

FredRock 2012 Lineup

My good friends at BabZees Entertainment have announced the lineup for FredRock 2012, being held again in August at the Loyalist Rugby Club. I don't need to say how awesome it is that we're into year four of FredRock, with all but the first festival held at the rugby club.

The lineup for this year's show, being held over two nights, features a lot of talent, with a few of my favourites in there.

Matthew Good headlines Friday night, and Steve Earle...yes, that Steve Earle...headline Saturday night.

Supporting acts include frequent 411#3 embedded youtube talent Matt Mays & el Torpedo, as well as The Trews, AWOLnation, The Sheepdogs, Walk Off The Earth, Elliott Brood and Poor Young Things.

I think this is one helluva lineup for FredRock this year. Congrats to the guys at BabZees for pulling together such an event for the city of Fredericton (and at the Loyalist Rugby Club, too).

Musical Interlude

Here are a couple tunes from two of the acts on the FredRock 2012 lineup.

One of the Coolest Things Ever!

A few weeks ago I wrote about Robert Cunningham's book, Chasing Records; I had downloaded it to keep me warm & fishy while working in Nunavut.

A few days after I posted it, the man himself emailed me to thank me for reading and reviewing the book. Since I'm not bold enough to assume Mr. Cunningham is a regular reader, that's pretty cool in itself.

What's really cool is what showed up in my mailbox this week: a signed hardcopy of his book.

I appreciated just receiving an email from him. I really appreciated this.

Thank you, Mr. Cunningham.

(Note: I still remain envious of his boat & seaplane. I told him so in my email response. He still sent me the book. Honesty, people. Honesty. It pays off.)

The Birth of a Tournament Angler...

...takes place tomorrow morning. Though it almost wasn't going to happen; as I mentioned last week, my truck is awaiting new parts which prevents the towing of the Magnificent Basstard.

No worries, as my tournament partner Pat (he of the City Limits Muskie last year) also has a boat...which suffered from a broken trailer axle a few days ago. Fortunately he has it fixed up & running, so we should be good to go for tomorrow!

The rod quiver tomorrow includes:

• Cabela's CGR 7'6" 7/8wt, matched with Hardy Ultralite reel and Sage's Performance Bluegille Taper fly line;
• Redington's Predator 7'10" 6wt, matched with Redington's Rise reel & Rio's Smallmouth Taper fly line;
• Quantum's most inexpensive spinning rod & reel in existence, in case it gets dirty, stinking windy out.

The Long Stick Renegade, as Cameron over at The Fiberglass Manifesto tweeted to me a few days back. I like the sound of that. Stay tuned for a post-tournament report, and perhaps I will live-tweet the tournament action (@mattrevors).

Upcoming Stuff

• The cool folks over at Redington have sent me a pair of their Sonic-Pro Wading Pants to use & abuse. I had them on yesterday for the first time, and will be taking them to Alaska to test out.
• I'm heading to Alaska! For three weeks! But it's for work, and it's on this coming Tuesday, which is way to soon, considering I only got back from the Arctic last Tuesday.
• Word on the street is I'll have some grayling and possibly pike & salmon available in Alaska. I'm still in the decision stage of what gear to bring, but it looks like it's been narrowed down to my 5wt, 7wt and possibly my 10wt.
• The cool folks over at Rio have sent me one of their specialty pike taper fly lines for the 10wt rod to  demo (hopefully) on our local muskie population. Seeing that there are pike in Alaska, and I do have a score to settle (and asterisk to remove) with pike, I'm leaning towards the 10wt setup coming on the trip....just in case...
• Fly tying has taken a backseat due to the move & such, but I'm hoping to get back on my tarpon, smallie & muskie tying kick real soon.
• I'm currently reading Captain John Kumiski's Redfish on the Fly: A Comprehensive Guide. Read into that statement as much as you like, knowing what you know about my impulsive travel habits. And expect a book review at some point.

More Music...

...from FredRock 2012 performer Matt Mays & el Torpedo.

That's all for now

Have a great weekend, everyone; may all your fish be epic in fun...not size.

Friday Post of Randomness

This one's covering a lot of topics, so grab a coffee, sit back and relax.

I'll do y'all a favour & put the music first, so you can click that on to enhance to your reading pleasure.

Without further ado...

The Dirtiest, Greasiest Blues I've Heard in a Long Time Award goes to...

...A band called Crooked Saws.

It was love at first listen for me, as you can see below:

I came across them in Field & Stream's Hook Shots video blog (which happened to be on fly fishing for redfish in Louisiana...double-win for me).

You can go to Crooked Saws's Bandcamp site to listen their album...and buy it for $5, which I did, because it's awesome.

Here's a track off their album:

You can follow along with the band on Facebook here.

The 'Roommate in the Desert' Update

Since I introduced my roommate to the blogosphere earlier this week ("My roommate is tougher than you"), he's been what we call "givin' 'er shit" in the Jordanian desert.

The first day & a bit were pretty rough, with his teammates having difficulty acclimatizing to the heat and all three of them having jet-lag issues.

Unfortunately, both of his teammates withdrew from the race on day 2, early in the stage, leaving the roommate to compete alone.

And compete he has. He's moved up approximately 50 positions in the race over the past few days and just completed the 89-kilometre-long fifth stage. All that remains is Stage 6, which is a relatively minor 10-kilometre hike to the ancient city of Petra.

Congrats, Capital O. You've done well, and the city of Fredericton is really proud of you...well, maybe it's just a dozen or so of us, but either way...good job!

I know your success is due to my recommendation to get a Katy Perry song stuck in your head, over & over again.

The Unofficial Blog of the Aluminum Bastard

Three trailer tires: $204.51

Having a truck awaiting parts & repairs, resulting in not being able to tow the aluminum bastard: priceless.

(*writer sticks face into crook of elbow and swears repeatedly*)

Moving

Though I often mention my desire for living simply and all that other shit, fly fishing gear provides you with a solid nut-shot of reality to counter those claims.

Sure, I can move all my clothes & books & most worldly possessions in one load of my '03 Sport Trac. And I am able to pull off day-to-day life with a pair of 'casual' Carhartts, a pair of newer/cleaner 'dress' Carhartts and my awesome Prana shortpants (don't judge me...).

But when you're looking at 11 fly rods & their reels (and spools), waders, boots, jackets, accessories & several milk crates full of tying material, a half-dozen or so fly boxes, stripping baskets...the word hypocrite comes to mind.

Then again, we're am moving to a small downtown apartment that will:
a) allow my lovely girlfriend & I to walk for groceries, coffee, restaurants, etc.
b) require all of one candle to heat comfortably in the wintertime.
c) allow us to pay off student loans & save some money for future adventures due to lower rent.
d) allow me to bike 10 minutes to go fishing.
e) put me at the boat ramp in 6 minutes...if I'm ever able to put the Magnificent Basstard in the water.

At least I'm doing better than the McMansion crowd.

Fishing

Yes, this is a fly fishing blog, but you wouldn't really know it of late. That's because I was stuck within a degree of latitude of the Arctic Circle for four weeks and came back to boats & trucks requiring maintenance and an apartment that need moving into.

I'm hoping to remedy this lack-of-fishing situation tonight.

(*writer clasps hands, looks at the ceiling and mumbles something about needing to go fishing interspersed with a lot of swearing*)

More music

If you made it all the way through this dribble, you deserve some more music.

It's Friday, after all. Enjoy your long weekend, Canada!

The Aluminum Bastard

"Boats are holes in the water, into which one pours money." - Anon.

The Magnificent Basstard

Within a few days, I'll be moving into the space where boat ownership is actually fun.

The day I decided to buy it was pretty fun. And the day I brought it home to reside in the driveway was fun, too. Even the 2 hours I took it out for a spin with my buddy Andrew (the previous owner) on a cold-as-f**k day in November was alright as well.

For the most part, it's been an expensive pain in my asshole.

Boat covers, miscellaneous safety accessories, online boater safety courses, tools, registration transfers, trailer tires, towing packages & trailer hitches & wiring, spring tune-ups, so on & so forth.

And then there's bailing gallons of rainwater off the damn cover that I'm too lazy to tie down properly.

What started as a simple text message conversation back in early October has turned into a seventeen-foot, money-sucking aluminum bastard in my yard.

And I love it!

I want to get it into the water. I want to catch fish with it. I want it to stop sucking money from my pockets every time I look at it.

Two outta three ain't bad...