Fly Fish Chick

When you don’t have the time or energy to aim high, sometimes it’s better just to sink low. Normally I am not entertained by lowbrow disgusting humor. I was never one to fall for the pull my finger gag or laugh at the boys in elementary school who made fart noises with their armpits. I don’t like jokes about flatulence, snot or other bodily functions.

But for some reason this just keeps me in stitches. Those of you who got queasy from my post on The Cricketeer might want to put down your breakfast tacos. Or skip this post entirely.

So last week we enjoyed beers, burgers and laughs with Gaper, Spinner and Mike at The Melrose Bar in Montana. Just as the jukebox was in full swing and we were all feeling warm and jolly, it was time to leave. We traded hugs and fond farewells…and off we went. We wandered from the bar, musing about what a great day it had been, when The Professor noticed this vile frozen mess on his boat:

What is it????? I was both disgusted and horrified. It was pretty nasty. But for some reason I could not stop laughing! I mean, uncontrollable, adolescent, giddy, ridiculous laughter. Just when I stopped laughing and gained composure, I would think about it and fall right back into a pile of hysteria and giggles.

Someone vomited on the boat! Are you kidding me? I recalled some very very drunk guys who were at the bar when we arrived. They were pretty obnoxious, and I staunchly rebuffed their boisterous (and bad Kenny Chesney) song requests when I was at the jukebox. I deduced that they had staggered from the bar and thrown up in our boat as revenge.

At first, The Professor agreed with me. But he soon tired of my trippy laughter over the whole mess and offered a less disgusting theory. Perhaps I left my G2 unopened on the boat, it spilled, mixed with some dirt and froze in this uniquely vomit-like pattern. I don’t know…but whatever it is, some of it splattered into my wading boots.

What do you think? Keep it moderately appropriate, of course. But don your best Honkytonk CSI skills and help solve the mystery.

What is this ghoulish mess on the drift boat?

Someone should have warned me about Facebook. When I signed up a year ago, very few of my married mommy girlfriends were on there. I naively nosed around a few fishing groups and ended up with a gazillion fishing friends that I didn’t know. Nothing wrong with that except they now had my first and last name, and some of these dudes were creepy. A few bad eggs will just ruin it for everyone.

It was a full-time job to monitor my Facebook Wall which filled up with messages from total strangers who were always “Partying At The Playboy Club in Vegas” or “Recovering From a Six-Day Bender.” Not to mention writing lecherous messages about me.

I had to take down my Facebook profile.

Sad really, because I grew up in a family that was pretty open and embraced the notion of befriending a stranger. On family roadtrips to Colorado my dad would inevitably pick up some hitchhiker. It was always exotic and terribly exciting to hear their story and blend lives for a short while.

Once, when we were living in London, my mother went to Russia with a friend and they brought home some graduate student who didn’t have a place to spend the holidays. I swear I think we hung a stocking for him on our mantle.

Where did those days go? A simpler time when hitchhiking was the safest form of social networking and travel brought real human characters into your life.

I will say, we had a taste of it in Montana last week. Through an organic chain of events, The Professor and I met up with fishing-guide writer, Gaper, and his buddy Spinner. They were tackling the same stretch on The Big Hole. Now I can’t keep track of all the personalities and screen names over on The Drake site, so it was well into our boat ramp banter when I learned that Gaper is in fact the much-ballyhooed author of the AK Chronicles.

Knock me over with a feather! An urban legend…the blogger that gets a book deal. That’s like the guy who shows up in LA to be a screenwriter or the doe-eyed optimist who arrives in Nashville to be a songwriter. I was terribly uncool and starstruck.

Gaper, however, was the epitome of cool, as was his buddy Spinner. They were a riot actually. When we met them at the end of the day at The Melrose Bar, they appeared to be multiplying, arriving with a third guy. Turns out the extra fisherman, Mike, had been fishing alone on the banks of The Big Hole so they loaded him in their boat as they floated by.

Thank heavens they did because Mike brought a whole different layer to the story. He is a young golfer who played one British amateur and two US amateurs, including nailing a hole-in-one at Eastlake. Initial pass as a professional golfer didn’t pay the bills so he is headed to southern California to be a caddy. While working his way across the country toward that tour of duty, he was living out of his car in Montana, fishing out his final weeks of freedom.

Our boat ramp socializing continued over on The Missouri as well. I ran into my summertime buddy, fly tier Bob Lay, and he and The Professor became fast friends. On a particularly windy day we ran into Bob in Craig. Too windy for him to fish in his little one-man craft so we convinced him to join our float. Such fun! Stories galore and dry fly fishing til dark.

Granted hitchhiking is probably not as safe as it was back in the 70s, but the characters that come in and out of my life on the boat ramps of Montana are priceless. Facebook can’t compete with that.

That said, apparently in the past six months everyone I know has joined Facebook. The other day I was chatting with one of my best friends from high school. She was laughing that our upcoming reunion would be so boring since everyone was already up to speed on Facebook. What? She gave me her username and password to log onto her profile. Sure enough, there were all my friends, yucking it up, sharing pictures of their kids, swapping tales. It did look pretty fun. Damn.

But I’m holding firm in my Facebook boycott. I can always thumb a ride on her profile when I need to take a little spin and catch up with old friends. I’m sticking with blogs and boat ramps to meet the new ones.

The Professor arrived a few days earlier so he was waiting for me when I landed in Butte last week. It felt so good to be back in Montana – cool air, mustard-color autumn trees, bright skies, and snow capped mountains. The rigors and responsibility of everyday life vaporized on contact. We made our way to Dillon where we poked around, ran some errands and prepared for the first day of our fall fishing vacation. After much deliberation we decided to kick things off on The Big Hole.

Ooh la la, I am having a mad love affair with The Big Hole River!

I fell hard for this eerie, dreamy stream last summer. It was my first time to fish on the Big Hole and my first time to fish with The Professor. Both adventures were delightfully successful, so I was thrilled to launch our fall excursion there as well.

Oh, I’ve got it bad for the Big Hole alright….majestic mountain views, swift moving current, tea-colored water. A canyon that wraps you up then presents you to a gorgeous valley as if introducing a visitor from a foreign land. And let’s not overlook the remote Montana dive bars — or the aggressive trout that are just as native and just as wild.

The one thing I’ve learned on The Big Hole is that I have much to learn about fishing.

That’s where The Professor comes in. He’s not really a professor mind you. It’s just another tongue-in-cheek nickname, although I can’t take credit for this one. His three nephews dubbed him The Professor since he taught each one of them, as they came up through the ranks, to fish for trout on a flyrod. Casting, rowing, flies, knots, boat etiquette, netting techniques. He passed on everything he’s picked up over the years.

These days his nephews are well into their twenties and fishing on their own. The Professor needed a new project and graciously took me under wing. Of course there are many people who deserve credit for teaching me to fish and teaching me to love to fish – namely my parents. But in the spirit of continuous improvement, The Professor has taken a keen interest in fishing with me.

Plus, we have a hell of a good time together on the water.

Last week was no exception. At first The Professor was startled to learn that I had very little experience streamer fishing. (Here we go again with the assumptions!) But he dug deep into his gear bag for a hearty dose of patience and an irresistible streamer pattern. With each cast, I threw out that big ole streamer and a little dash of hope. Whoa! There is nothing quite like seeing those fish follow that streamer, sometimes all the way to the boat. I’m happy to report that in its never-ending quest for dominance, my passion won out over my inexperience on this particular day.

The brown trout on this river are a different breed. First of all, the colors are exquisite. The yellowy-green is electric and intoxicating. And the red dots are magnificent. I have to say, this fish was particularly bejeweled.

The other thing I’ve learned from some trout that have mocked me on The Big Hole is that, once hooked, they behave differently than they do on The Missouri. Most of the big Missouri browns will hunker down before a dash downstream. As long as you stay focused and don’t horse them, you can often lure them to the net with the mind control of a snake charmer. But twice now I have broken off some big Big Hole trout that laughed at me over their undoubtedly hefty shoulders as they sped upstream in heavy current faster than I could mutter “3X Say What?”

Our second day on the Big Hole offered slightly less action. We started out of the gate early and were hopeful, but things slowed down as we drifted through the canyon. 

No worries though because The Professor put me on the sticks and coached me on my rowing. Since I learned to row on the Missouri, it was a new challenge to these navigate faster waters and hidden rocks.

I couldn’t just cruise along, telling stories and watching him fish, I had to look downstream and pay attention to where we were going….constantly. And I heard “C’mon now, you better dig in and pull us away from this rock!” quite a number of times. I’m still not sure how to power stroke when you’re in shallow water. But that’s okay, much to learn in the rower’s seat, and I love it.

As our second day on the Big Hole neared its end, The Professor reminded me of yet another important lesson: perseverance. We’d been fishless for awhile, and my mind was drifting to the heater in the truck and a burger at the bar in Melrose. But The Professor, who is not one to go easy on me, made me fish out the last half mile with a sense of urgency. Thank goodness he did because we ended the day just above the takeout with this Big Hole calling card.

There is nothing better than topping off a cold day of fishing with comfort food, draft beer, and a jukebox stocked with Merle Haggard. Add some red wine and it’s a veritable fly-fishing fairytale. It was a magical time on The Big Hole to be sure. Throwing streamers, flirting with The Professor, hooking up with beautiful browns. Proving once again that on a trout stream in Montana, dreams really do come true.

As I mentioned the other day I haven’t been fishing in awhile. The one exception? A couple of weeks ago I was in Alabama and got to venture out in the lower Mobile River Delta for speckled trout.

Unfortunately my trusty guide made the faulty assumption that I had previous experience with a spinning rod. Now why in the world would he think a girl with a tongue-in-cheek, self-penned moniker like “Fly Fish Chick” would know how to handle a spinning rod? We were a full hour into our adventure (setting up on some fish) when we mutually discovered this minor breakdown in communication.

From the look on his face I thought he was going to turn that boat right round baby right round and head for home.

But hey, what I lack in skill I try and make up for with a positive attitude. And it was gorgeous out there! I was channeling my Inner Meat-Fishing-Mamacita, catching shrimp from the live well with my bare hands and hurling them out there best I could. So fun. And the fishing was much more strategic than I expected. Searching for birds hitting the water, using the tides to set up at just the right angle, picking the perfect shrimp (a big delicious feisty one!) when you know you’re really into some good fish.

The highlight for a first-time tourist like me was spotting a monster alligator. Of course I begged for a closer look so we buzzed up for a photo shoot. Suddenly I felt like I was the one bobbing inside a live well while the alligator was sizing me up. I made every effort not to come across as either delicious or feisty.

Once we interrupted his afternoon nap in the sunshine, that prehistoric lug submerged himself into the water with the unexpected grace and vertical control of a synchronized swimmer. Part dinosaur, part Esther Williams. It was wild. And we were outta there.

It was a wonderful day out on the water — despite the fact I ended up with zero fish to show for my big meat-fishing adventure. Unfortunately, I was decidedly inconsistent and awkward with a spinning rod. The most excitement we had was along the edge of this grassy spot. Shrimp were jumping everywhere and I had a few good shots and a few good bites. But I couldn’t set the hook. Yikes. Luckily, my trusty guide was super patient and quite skilled at the pep talks and ego-stroking.

By sharp contrast to my debut performance, about a week or so later Big R, Little R, and Little R’s friend proved that experience does pay off and that there is no such thing as beginner’s luck for me. They put me to shame in the very same grassy spot.

Well done boys! But now I want another shot. Truthfully I don’t think it was my ineptitude with a spinning rod that was holding me back. I think it was mental. My super-chill, fly-fishing, girlie-girl zen attitude simply didn’t work for this type of fishing. Next time, “Fly Fish Chick” is going to become “Bait Fish Chick”, and I am going hunt down those fish like a half-crazed vigilante.

Oh yeah baby, it is on! Wanted: Speckled Trout. Dead or Alive.

Someone once told me the worst thing that can ever happen to a good band is when they become a cover band of themselves.

Don’t copycat your own greatest hits.

I suppose it’s a life lesson for the rest of us non-musicians as well. No one likes the bore who merely relives their glory days from the past. A fair point to be sure, but what about nostalgia? What about warm memories? What about the feeling of playing that one song — that one song! – that always puts a smile on your face and takes you right back to a certain place in time?

Some long underwear triggered a trip down memory lane today. Even though it’s still hot enough in Texas to sport tank-tops & flip-flops, I am pulling out fleece jackets and heavy gloves for a trip to Montana next week. Last time I donned all this gear was in June, for my Smith River Float/Missouri trip. I have to admit, it’s hard not to look over my shoulder and smile at that adventure.

It’s only been a few months, but it already seems like ages ago! We had such a big time on that trip. Amazing how lounging around a campfire defies life phases and stages in order to melt away the world and bring everyone together. I mean is there anything more fun than a campfire and a guitar? Every night we would sing the same set of songs over and over, and every night we were delighted as if it were the first time we’d ever heard them.

Eventually, however, our little cover band of merrymakers decided we had to put our own spin on these venerable tunes. Around the fire on our last night we each took turns singing– impromptu — a custom verse of Tom Petty’s ‘Free Fallin’. Free, tree, three, see, glee. Fallin, ballin, haulin, callin, stallin. You’d be surprised how quickly you can morph into a bonafide Comedian/Lyricist when you’re in the hotseat and there are plenty of liquor drinks to go around. We laughed so hard we hurt ourselves.

Making up inane lyrics to well known songs….well it just never seems to get old, does it?

So as a quick distraction from doing my long underwear inventory, I’ve put together a musical montage of the June Smith trip. Reliving glory days? Perhaps. It was fairly glorious. And in the past. But it sure has me fired up about autumn in Montana. Bundling up in waders and gloves and gear. Crisp cold temperatures and big streamers and warm drinks. The melody may sound familiar, but as with any fishing adventure I’m sure this trip will have its own beat, it’s own rhythm, and its own lyrical memories.

I just can’t wait to hear the soundtrack.

In the meantime, enjoy this montage. Sing along if you know the words. If not, feel free to make up your own.

Make an on-line slideshow at www.OneTrueMedia.com

Why is it so quiet in here?!?!

Alright, I know I know. I’ve been radio silent. But to tell you the truth, I have a very good excuse… I just haven’t had a damn thing to say.

No self-promoting fish pictures to broadcast, no play-by-play of days on the water with family and friends, no color commentary of neon life in the honkytonk bars of rural Montana. So I simply had to tap my helmet and come out of the game for a bit.

Not to mention, I haven’t been fishing lately! Well, that’s not entirely true. I ventured out with a spinning rod. Now that was a whole new ball game for me. A story for another day.

But there’s been no fly-fishing for this chick since summer wrapped up. Instead, I have temporarily traded my fishing addiction for an unhealthy obsession for college football.

Really, it all goes back to my New Years Resolutions for 2008. I’ve long since given up lofty resolutions like weight loss and financial success. Those are a recipe for disappointment and self destruction. I like to make new years resolutions that are both tangible and achievable. So my objectives for this year were pretty clear cut:

1. Attend a Texas home football game

2. Attend an SEC football game

3. Start drunk dialing friends

Now truth be told, at this stage in life I don’t think I even drink enough to qualify as a drunk dialer. So I’m probably going to fail on that one. Or at least roll it into 2009.

But no worries because I am doing extraordinarily well on Resolutions #1 and #2. You have to admit, it’s been a pretty exciting college football season. It’s so fun. I don’t understand why any man, woman or child wouldn’t love college football. It’s beyond me! As my dad says, it’s the original TV Reality Show. I have re-arranged MyYahoo to feed me the latest NCAA Football news round the clock. Sunday evenings I start hitting REFRESH on espn.com to get the updated rankings. I am brainwashing my child with stickers and t-shirts.

It’s been a season of David & Goliath upsets, mid-season firings, nailbiter finishes, heartbreaking injuries and bizarre referee calls. But we’re at the mid-point and we’ve got 3 venerable football teams at the top of the pile. Darwinian if you think about it. As this ESPN article explains, the 70s are back baby!!

I love that Tennessee fell from grace early. And that USC got walloped on the nose like a bad puppy that peed on the carpet. I loved the Vanderbilt Cinderella story. And watching the Alabama-Georgia game with my daughter as we were battling it out (mother vs daughter) with respective elephant and bulldog stuffed animal webkinz in hand. I loved being at a Texas tailgate watching Carolina upset Miami. I loved being at a Carolina tailgate watching Texas upset OU. I love the SEC, I love the Big 12 and I love the Tarheels.

The best part is that I have been to some fun games this year. Of course my diet has gone to hell, because I’ve had more hot dogs and popcorn in the last six weeks than I’ve had in my lifetime — delish. I actually drank a bourbon & coke in a plastic cup last week. Haven’t done that in ages….funny how it comes right back to you. The smell of bourbon, the roar of the crowd, dancing at a fraternity house late night.

Yes, it has been a fun season of college football. With hopefully more on the horizon. But while I shift my mind toward the trout and chilly rivers that are in my near future, I thought I would share a few pictures from my football adventures this Fall. Enjoy. Show your colors. Cheer hard. But most of all MAKE SOME NOISE!!!!

ALABAMA beat CLEMSON 34-10 in the Georgia Dome:

I love the fact that I saw this game with my own eyes at the start of it all. Bama shot out of the tunnel this season like a cannon and hasn’t looked back. Tough days now for Tommy Bowden, but anyone else who was at this game will tell you Clemson’s troubles started right here in Atlanta.

TEXAS beat RICE 52-10 at home:

Okay so Rice wasn’t a terribly big threat. But we were ready. And this was a hell of a fun day.

TEXAS beat ARKANSAS 52-10 at home:

This game was rescheduled due to Hurricane Ike, so then it conflicted with the ACL music festival. No worries though because I think I could see the festival all the way from here. Went to the game with great family friends and took Little Chick which was a real treat.

UNC beat NOTRE DAME 29-24 in Chapel Hill:

This was the best of all. We had a big reunion in Chapel Hill last weekend for this game — we’ve been planning this gathering since last February. Carolina is my alma mater and I haven’t been back in 9 years. We showed up and cheered hard and I can say I had more fun last Saturday night in that football stadium than I had the whole four years I was in college — and that is saying a lot.

This Carolina defensive stand was incredible. Led us to victory. And almost gave me a heart attack: