I am feeling pretty good after the race, my hands are achy and still a bit swollen, my legs are covered in poison ivy, I am eating like a ravenous beast, and I am super sleepy tired. So bear with me as I try to encapsulate a complex and dense adventure into a shorthand highlight reel. (If you want to cut to the chase, there is a slideshow at the end of this post.) Yall have been with me every step of the way for the past year so I want to give you a flavor of this wild expedition…

SATURDAY – DAY #1

I did not enjoy the first day. There were just so many damn boats to avoid and navigate. Everything was so amped up, I tweaked my back at the second portage literally 15 minutes into the race so that was stressing me out.

The first day on the upper San Marcos River is the hairiest section with fast narrow turns, tree limbs and stumps coming at you in rapid fire pace, and more portages than the law allows. Combat paddling at its finest. We had to portage a little island just after the start, Rio Vista rapids, Cummings Dam which is at least 24 feet high and was a total backlog of stressed out amped up racers and boats. Chaos.

We navigated the old broken down mill rapids seamlessly having scouted it during training. I was pretty proud of our execution there. Then we had Cottonseed Rapids which we also had a plan…that went so-so. I wasn’t at the top of my game there. But hey, we made it through unscathed so that’s the most important thing. We also stayed upright at Broken Bone rapids which has tumped Phil and me (and Banning and me!) the last four or five training runs.

We portaged both Martindale Dam and the low water bridge at the same time. That felt like a long haul. I was cursing every ounce of food and gear we brought. Phil estimates our 45lb boat was about 125lb fully loaded. And we packed lean. Things just add up…ounces turn into pounds fast.

The first checkpoint was at Staples Dam which was another weighty portage.

Things went smoothly until our second checkpoint at the Luling 90 Bridge which was a chaotic handoff. There were just so many spectators and recreational crowds and tubers. It was a nutty blur.

We plowed ahead to Zedler Mill and the Luling Dam which we portaged really well. We had a plan, communicated efficiently. It’s a pretty narly takout without much bank, then up and over a low concrete wall, push through the spectators to get the 24-foot boat lined up just right. And then we worked the boat down the 30ft rocky slope. This was our last major obstacle in daylight hours.

I was very glad the first day and the upper section was over. I did not enjoy the intensity of it all, I was worried about my back, and Seadrift seemed like a faint dream way too far away.

SATURDAY – NITE #1

I had been pretty nervous about night paddling. There are just so many obstacles that jump out during the day, I couldn’t imagine how it would go.

It was dusk at the Son of Ottine Dam which we awkwardly portaged river right. In retrospect with the high water we could have run the dam, but it wasn’t too bad. We had to swim the boat awhile down the right bank to find a place to get back in. I nailed a few rocks and tree branches which beat me up a little but that’s okay since it was my poor call to portage right.

We reached Ottine Dam at dark with a backlog of about three boats trying to portage up the hill. While waiting our turn we put away sunglasses and hats and rigged the boat for night travel, mounting the bow light and getting headlamps out. Or did we do the bow light after the portage? At any rate, the 6-man aluminum boat that was blocking the portage path had to move aside to let others get by. We actually portaged Ottine – usually a beast – very well. We worked the boat up the 40- foot dirt bank, dragged it across the grassy field up top and then lowered it down the narrow cut on the other side back down to the river.

Here was a surprise for me…I liked running at night. I felt reinvigorated and for the first time in the race, a little bit more on my game. The sun wasn’t beating down on us which was relief. Since I was in the bow I had to focus keenly on the potential stumps in the beam of our light, which actually gave me something to zone in on as paddling became monotonous.

The next checkpoint was Palmetto low water bridge. Again we talked through a strategy and executed well. It’s a dangerous spot with a sweeper on one side and the water level just inches under the bridge which means the boat could easily get sucked under. There is a bend in the river so without a straightaway view, the bridge comes up very fast.

But we were on the ready, I jumped out on the right and scurried to the bank which gave me leverage to get up on the bridge while Phil got the boat lined up closer to the bridge. Then he jumped out and we hoisted it up and over….and we were on our way.

It was a long eerie night. From Palmetto to the Gonzales Dam the river calms down quite a bit. Just a stump here and there – I felt like the sailors on the Titanic on lookout for icebergs. It was somewhat relaxing paddling at night, the stars were gorgeous, the frogs were loud.

I’d say relaxing…until about 1:30 am when it went past relaxing right into soporific. We had to pull over for a rest. We found what we thought was a nice dirt-packed ledge above a bank where we could pull out. We grabbed out Ridgerest pads, took off shoes to dry feet, set watch alarm for an hour, and turned the lights off.

Unfortunately your body starts dumping heat, your clothes are wet and it’s freezing. Mosquitoes were vile. I think we only slept about 15 or 20 minutes so we picked it up after about 45 minutes rest and paddled on.

We reached the confluence where the San Marcos flows into the Guadalupe. I was happy to reach this landmark. About three more miles to the Gonzales Dam…

We were getting low on steam and a little bored so we started singing. Different musical tastes and lack of brain cells made it hard to think of songs we could both sing…but somehow we stumbled on the genre ‘Soft Rock of the 70s’ and made some progress.

We made it though with rounds of ‘Bye Bye Miss American Pie’, ‘Country Roads’, ‘Take It Easy’, ‘Life’s Been Good To Me So Far’, and ‘You Are The Woman That I’ve Always Dreamed Of’…let me save you a trip to Google…Firefall sang it.

We reached the Gonzales Dam around 4:30ish am? You may remember the Gonzales Dam from the post about the dead cow. We were keen not to follow the hefer over this fatal fall so we paddled carefully looking for the best path up. We saw the safety light and a solo racer trying to hoist his boat up the dirt bank.

This was a tough portage. Phil got up on land and tied the the bow rope around a tree. I climbed my way out of the water onto land and we inched the boat up the hill. Then we scouted around for the best way down. Nothing popped out. Argh. So begrudgingly we began to work the boat down these awkward rocks and boulders.

Whew. Another mile or so to the Gonazales checkpoint where we napped for almost an hour until sunrise.

SUNDAY – DAY #2

Groggy. Wow. Didn’t I got to college? Wasn’t I well trained in all-nighters? The sun was bright enough to lull me to nodding off and the stretch toward the Hocheim checkpoint is about as boring as it gets. No bridges, no spectators, no other racers – the boats has spread out by this point.

It was a long 38-mile grind to the next checkpoint. We had to dip in the water often to wake up. We reached the Hocheim pretty whipped. My back no longer hurt, but my knee ached and my fanny was starting to hurt. We were almost to the halfway mileage point and got a little testy with each other. We had to set the reset button on the team demeanor and grabbed a 30-45 minute nap before pressing on.

We finally started to run with a few other boats as we neared the Cheapside checkpoint. At this point in the race I started to get into a groove.

SUNDAY – NITE #2

We geared the boat for night at Cheapside and made way short leg to Cuero checkpoint. I think this is what they call Hallucination Alley – and it did not disappoint.

Pretty much everything looked like Mardi Gras floats or Carnival costumes coming at me. I also saw a herd of Jack Russells, a deer corpse pierced through a stump, several mini mt rushmores, and a washing machine.

After the Cuero checkpoint we were on the prelim course which Phil and I both recognized fairly well at the start. Then it started to seem different. And it was a WILD ride. In the dark of night in high water we came up fast on the series of Nursery Rapids which were hairy. Am thrilled we didn’t tump. Whew.

I think it was about 4am when we really needed sleep. I could tell when Phil nodded off in the back because the boat jiggy-jagged. He could tell the same. It’s a miracle we didn’t fall asleep and jerk and tump the boat. Once we decided to sleep, it took ONE LONG GRUELING HOUR to find a slice of the bank where we could pull over. That was tedious.

MONDAY – DAY #3

It was a good nap – about an hour? We woke at dawn excited to have two days and two night behind us. The end was in sight….it was possible that we could reach Seadrift without another full night on the water.

We reached the Victoria checkpoint about 8am in great spirit and super focused. We ditched trash, reapplied Desitin, unloaded unnecessary items, and were paddling by 8:29.

Another brutally boring hot long stretch to the Dupont checkpoint.

Our upbeat euphoria in Victoria wore off after a few hours. We took breaks to dunk in water but a lot faster – Seadrift was a real carrot at this point. We had opportunity to hit the finish line before midnite.

Luckily we finally paddle up to our friends Max & Mike and ran with them over ten miles which was fun and took our minds off the monotony and pain. My fanny was killing me in that seat. My shoulders were really aching.

Without question this was the most mind-bending, boring, hot, achy, un-scenic stretch of the race. But we were making headway. We reached the Dupont checkpoint and our bank crew was excited at our pace. Our team captain was taking food orders to have waiting for us in Seadrift since we’d arrive middle of the night. The thought of a pile of pasta, a dry bed, and the cool sensation of an ice sock around my neck made me feel a ton better.

Just two more legs until the finish line! That was pretty exciting.

Of course we also had two of the our biggest obstacles: the logjams below Dupont and the bay, which is always a wild card.

Luckily we hit the logjams during the day as they were gnarly. They weren’t as bad as the tales from previous years. The first logjam was the toughest, and we fouled up our approach which added some extra work for us. In retrospect we think our original plan was probably sound but who knows. We went conservative. We were dragging that boat through brambles and tall weeds and bushes and fire ants and poison ivy and mosquitoes. It was pretty nasty.

I guess the logjam created about a 500 yard portage for us? I’m not great judging distances so who knows. I will get Phil to weigh in on that.

But we made it through!

The next two logjams were cupcakes compared to that. We actually rammed through them at their weak points and were able to jump some logs and/or push up on over them so we didn’t have to carry the boat again.

My body was wearing down. Shoulders ached. Bottom ached. Knees sore. Sleep deprivation was getting to me. I knew we were racing the clock for a good finish but I needed a minute at the Saltwater Barrier checkpoint. I laid down for 5 minutes. Then I just walked around to get the blood flowing and stretched my arms. It helped. As did the positive vibe from Phil and the team and crowd at the Barrier. It was our last checkpoint! Next stop, Seadrift!!

MONDAY – NITE #3

It was pretty exciting to think the next time my head hit the pillow would be a nice bed in a hotel with AC. That said, my body still ached and we had to cross the bay at night.

There were about ten more river miles until the mouth of the bay. It was hard to stay awake when it got dark. The trees all looked like wacky paper mache. My legs were itching like mad from the nastiess of the logjam portage. Phil and I discussed our strategy for the bay. We agreed on where we wanted to cross and our route up the marshy island and across the barge canal. He was very clear that for our fast but tippy boat to make the bay crossing upright I would need to paddle hard, strong arms, vertical catch with the paddle, perfect form.

I assured him I could do it despite the fact my arms were withering and my paddle was barely dipping sideways into the water. But I knew the challenge of the bay would lift me up into action. We decided we would wait to put on our spray skirt and life vests until the mouth of the bay where there is a grassy patch around the right side of the mouth. If we tumped in the spray skirt it would be nearly impossible to wiggle back into our tippy boat without a bank and terra firma.

It was a long slow dark eerie grind down river and the banks closed in on us. It gets very narrow down there. Fish camps and river houses disappeared and the land turned marshy on either side.

I thought I was hallucinating again when the water looked like it had a tide to it. I looked again, “Is it my imagination or are there waves in this river?”

Whoa! In a nanosecond the waves became bigger and we were on a roller coaster. Boom! We were at the mouth of the bay and trying to paddle upright in 3 foot rolling waves!

Phil steered us to the right point of the mouth of the bay where we hopped out and clung to a scraggly dead tree in the water. The boat went sideways and we couldn’t get turned around. Crisis. Immediate need was life vests. He got mine undone in a flash and handed it to me.

I hopped out of the boat while the waves were lifting us up and down dramatically. I clung to a branch which broke in my hand, I grabbed another one which broke, then finally grabbed a solid one. I wrapped my knees around the branch and awkwardly bobbed in water putting on my life vest. Then it was Phil’s turn.

The waves just kept undulating us up and down. Just as we had our life vests on and we were going to try and decide what to do next we saw the light of another boat rocking toward us in the waves.

Turns out as we were clinging to this tree trying to keep our boat from swamping, the grassy knoll was about a foot or two behind us in the dark.

We pulled the boat up as did our fellow racers, Gary and Kristen, a father-daughter team. Soon another boat came, Jamie and his son Brian. And then our friend Max and Mike arrived as the rollers were about 4 feet.

We all gathered with our boats on this grassy point at the mouth of the bay, clearly not getting to cross that night.

We kicked around for about an hour, looking for a spot of dry grass that wasn’t six inches deep in water. Max/Mike and Jamie/Brian decided to sleep there as they could stay in their boats. We couldn’t sleep in our boat so we decided to paddle back upstream a few miles to solid ground and a few hours sleep, hoping the bay would be calm at daylight.

Ugh. No hotel room. No decent food. No finish line Monday night. Just more paddling, wet clothes, sore body and a violent attack of poison ivy itchy like mad.

We slept until just before dawn. Mosquitoes were bad which had me hopeful the winds were dying down. No such luck, winds were howling, trees blowing. My poison ivy was burning and I was scratching like a junkyard dog.

I took some Motrin, slathered the last of the Desitin on my poison ivy, and we labored over the map of the bay again. We decided to go for it.

We paddle the same few miles back to the mouth. Waves again inside the river but not quite as bad. We decided to tackle the bay and not retreat which meant to get out of the mouth upright we had to paddle as hard as possible and not stop until we crossed over.

It was nuts! Winds were sustained 25mph with gusts that almost took us down. The angle of the wind and waves were favorable though, save the initial crossing. We made it to the marshy island in the middle and traveled along it as long as we could.

When we reached the tip and made the turn across the barge canal the wind and waves were too much and we tumped. But we managed to get back in the boat and paddle across the barge canal. Then we were on the seawall and Seadrift was in sight!

We knew we would be walking and/or swimming the boat at some point but we wanted to paddle as long as possible. I gave it all I had. I literally was paddling as hard as I physically could, with my best form and best stroke possible. I couldn’t take me eyes off the waves directly in line in front of me for fear I would shift my weight and tip us. I was breathing deeply and controlled like a yoga class to keep my hips loose and one with the boat so we could move with the waves.

There was the pavilion in sight! There was the flagpole at the finish line! There was my family and our team captain who driven up to the top of the seawall to look for us. They scrambled back in their truck to get back to the finish line and we paddled as the bay got rougher.

As we closed in on the finish line we tumped, but it was shallow and we walked the final yards in. It was exhilarating. Crossing that finish line and walking up those steps to meet my family was one of the greatest feelings I’ve ever experienced.

Whew. Sorry to type so fast and use such poor syntax but I am a little short on energy and time at the moment. That said I have been dying to share the quick story with you…there’s more to tell but that will come. For now, all I have to say is THANK YOU to Phil, Monica, my family, my friends, and all of you for cheering so hard!

We did it. 39th place out of 92 boats. Finished in 73 hours and 21 minutes. My first Safari finish.

We were wrong. In fact, we topped it. If you don’t feel like tripping over my clumsy long-winded writing, feel free to scroll down and enjoy the tunes and pics in the montage. If you want to stick with me here I will try and cover the highlights.

Like the camping. Beautiful weather, 80’s and sunshine all day, chilly at night in the 40’s with a bright full moon and tall trees dripping in moss. Perfection. We camped with good friends from Mobile and upon arrival immediately befriended the crew from Tampa who were camping next to us. Great new friends! We merged camps and cocktails and snacks and laughed around the fire for hours on end.

At our very first show I saw a groovy festie dude twirling a stick and dancing in a sarong and that’s when it hit me: Manskirts are perfectly acceptable hotness at Springfest. I really cooed and charmed and cajoled and begged the Professor to rock the manskirt this weekend. Denied. (Although I do think he was considering it at one point. I saw his vehement resistance starting to crack.) Basically all the guys in our crew said they would only do it if so-and-so did it…but only one of the four guys in our group stepped up to the manskirt plate. Granted he is Colombian and has long dark hair and the accent to match the manskirt, but nonetheless, special kudos go to Antonio for embracing the manskirt sarong – or as he calls it, the Manwrong. Manwrong…but oh so right.

The music was off the charts. We saw Dread Clampitt, The Mosier Brothers, Jonathan Edwards, The Belleville Outfit, Robert Earl Keen, Scythian, Donna The Buffalo, Jim Lauderdale, Ruthie Foster and Leftover Salmon. Whew! Did I miss anyone?

Liner Notes:

The Mosier Brothers – loved them

The Belleville Outfit – the find of the festival. They were all the talk at the merch table. They are from right here in Austin and have a conncetion with Warren Hood of the Waybacks.

Robert Earl Keen – seen him dozen times and he never disappoints. Played all the songs I needed, flashing his trademark grin all the while. REK delivered.

Scythian – What can I say about Scythian. Two years ago someone on the Drake site encouraged us to go see Scythian. We didn’t get the magic. But they have developed legions of fans in the past two years. I somehow got involved in Scythian sticker distribution (good looking sticker for a boat or a cooler by the way) and we decided we should give Scythian another chance. When we wandered up they were covering “I Just Died In Your Arms Tonight” by Cutting Crew. The Professor and I remain non-Scythian fans. Which is too bad because we have hundreds of Scythian stickers pouring out of every pocket of every backpack.

Donna The Buffalo – Herd Of Em?  Love love love. I think we are officially becoming part of The Herd. We saw a couple of their shows during the weekend and loved them all. Especially the night show where I had a major hoop dancing breakthrough. I have been practicing my hoop dancing off & on for two years – ever since last Springfest. Despite my efforts, I wasn’t getting any better. But we met a hoop maker who helped me find the right size hoop (and explained to the Professor in detail how to make me one for me) and I could do it! I was a hooping fool! We were both so enthralled by my hooping breakthrough and the hoop-making instructions that we didn’t notice that the guy had a trout on his hat until we got home and saw the pictures. On what planet would we miss that? Apparently hooping to Donna The Buffalo.

Jim Lauderdale – Knock me over with a feather this guy can rock the Manuel western wear. As you may recall I was so star struck when I met Lauderdale face-to-face two years ago that I literally couldn’t speak. Vindication! I raced to the meet-n-greet after his show and words actually came out of my mouth and we had our picture taken together. His afternoon show was a real treat because we were joined by a couple from Tallahassee, Jeff & Leah, that the Professor is friends with. I actually met Jeff briefly last summer fishing the Missouri in Montana…fun to reconnect, meet his wife Leah, and enjoy music together. Look forward to more tunes and good times with these new friends.

Ruthie Foster – Sister’s got pipes. Period, paragraph. She blew the proverbial roof off the alfresca joint. And great hooping music. I heart Ruthie Foster. And everyone did as well.

Leftover Salmon – Let’s face it, millions of dirtbags can’t be wrong. Initially I wasn’t blown away by the few songs on my ipod but seeing them at midnight, with the tiki torches, the balloons bouncing around, the stick dancers, the live version was divine. We had a ball.

Of course the fun didn’t end with the last act each nite. On Friday night we laughed so hard around the campfire and found ourselves still awake at 2am. So we ventured across the field to the fabled Drum Circle. Not only did we go to the drum circle, somehow half our crew ended up participating in the drum circle. Let’s just say, even though the Professor wouldn’t don the manskirt, his stock went up with his bongo skills.

The second night we skipped the drum circle because we found this uber hip tent, trimmed in Christmas lights and marked with Bill Monroe and Vassar shrines. It was the Quartermoon Band tent and they kicked in around 3am in the campgrounds, picking and grinning and jamming with anyone and everyone. I requested “Rollin In My Sweet Babys Arms” and found myself in the round singing a round. Crazy fun.

Needless to say transition from Springfest to real life is a harsh one. I don’t think Little Chick will appreciate me hoop dancing in the carpool line in front of all her friends. So I am going to watch my own montage again, and drift off to images of mandolins and Spanish moss and tiki torches and banjoes and moonlight and campfire laughter…Springfest.

To get things started this morning, Banning and I ran our own shuttle, traveling to the Big Webberville boat ramp, only to learn the park was closed until 8 am. Why does my life so often track with Clark Griswold? No matter, we decided to cruise back up to the Little Webberville takeout instead. From there, we drove back to Austin to begin our paddle from our regular point at the boathouse near the Four Seasons Hotel. We experienced many firsts today, not the least of which was carrying the aluminum beast with actual gear. For the first time we had our water jugs, life jackets, firstaid kit, and food. And it was all heavy. We are researching dehydrated food and powdered meals as we speak. Wow, that canoe was heavy.

We were on our own for the familiar Town Lake stretch, assuming the rest of the crew would catch up with us soon. (Trust me, we saw them paddle in the Town Lake race series. They are fast.) We reached the Longhorn dam and had to walk around a bit to determine the best way to portage. That’s when we ran into Marilyn and her husband Tom. Marilyn was rejoining Deb’s expedition after a few days break, and would journey all the way to Matagorda from this point. We struggled with our heavier-than-ever canoe, and Tom insisted we use their wheels to portage along the bike path.

Wheels. Oh my heavenly invention. The wheel cart made all the difference. Unfortunately there won’t be any flat, clear cutaways on the Safari where wheels will work. Hence we probably need to stick to carrying the canoe while training and start counting ounces on our gear. Did I mention how heavy that canoe was yesterday?

We scaled the canoe down a steepish rocky slope and put on the water – our first time off Town Lake! Hoo-yah!! I felt like a teenager who was ditching the learner’s permit and hitting the open road for the first time. And guess what? There was actual current. Moving water! I was in heaven.

The river was clear, the sun was bright. We saw big schools of white bass and carp and spotted gar. I paddled my little guts out and for the first time actually felt what it was like to move the aluminum beast. She rode like she was on rails. I saw a few caddis flutter by as if to say, “Don’t worry, you may be taking on a completely new sport but a river is still a river and it is always familiar territory for you.” Then I saw this mayfly on top of the water and decided to give him a lift on my knee for awhile. I know we weren’t supposed to be adding weight to the boat, but I paddled a little harder with him there, my own personal figurehead.

It didn’t take long for Deb and her crew to catch up with us. Suddenly we had a flotilla of six other boats and lots of cool, experienced paddlers to get to know. We learned so much today, it’s hard to quantify.

We had one more portage which was more good Safari training. There were a few spots with current, but most of the river miles were wide and slow. It was a great backdrop to work out the kinks on our drinking tubes, both literally and figuratively. I learned a good lesson about not eating too much at one snack break…indigestion. Apparently all the blood is in your arms and since you are seated for hours on end, digestion is not as prolific as normal.

It was a gorgeous day and a beautiful section of water I am thrilled to have experienced. We covered almost 30 miles in six-and-a-half hours, made some new friends, and learned so much. Many thanks to Debbie, Mike, Janie, Curt, Ginsie, Stephanie and Marilyn for inviting us to tag along and sharing lots of advice and plenty of laughs on the water. Enjoy the slideshow and GOOD LUCK to Debbie on the rest of her journey!

So despite the fact that cold temps and raging winds have thwarted all three of our recent Louisiana redfishing trips, we did as cajuns do and decided to lache pas la patate. Last Sunday we loaded up fishing gear and hope for Hopedale as we ventured back over to Louisiana to fish with Travis Holeman.

Finally. The sun came out. The winds laid down. The water warmed up. And the fish started moving around. Pretty quick out of the gate we were sight casting to reds and The Professor came up victorious a few times before lunch.

It was my turn up on the bow, but suffice to say my cast was rusty rusty rusty! I was struggling. I had half a dozen opportunities to sight cast at several reds but couldn’t deliver. Everyone was patient why I got into a better rhythm with the 8-weight. About midday I finally did connect and found some tension on the rod. Only problem? I was boogying to beat of a different drum…black, not red. And I foul hooked it.

It was wild, I saw the whole thing happen. I was urgently casting at three or four fish directly in front of the boat moving straight toward me. They rebuffed my offering and decided to scat as I watched this 35-pound lug move from left to right while I was still stripping. I felt tension but knew his body was too far right of my fly for it to be a proper eat. So this beast of a black drum took me to my backing with a tarpon hook and a redfish fly in his ass. As you can see I have some work to do on my grip-n-grin with a 35+ pound black drum foul hook fish.

Luckily mother nature started working with me and compensated for my poor casting. The sunshine continued to warm up the water so the fish started moving and eating with vigior. I finally caught my first Louisiana redfish.

And in the words of our esteemed captain, at this point we proceeded to jimmy jam ‘em. Singles, doubles, triples. My biggest was about ten pounds. The Professor’s about fifteen. But we caught a heap of reds and knocked the voodoo off. Whew! Finally.

Big thanks to Travis Holeman for a good old fashioned jimmyjam on the water . Enjoy the slideshow and remember the key lesson here: Don’t Let Go of the Potato.

I may not be an expert paddler, but there’s one thing I know something of, and that’s music. And rivers. So in an effort to get my corpulent yuletide fanny off the couch and back on the treadmill, I’ve created a whopper of a playlist with great songs about RIVERS.

I have to imagine a few of you could chime in on this topic. So tell me, my huckleberry friend, what is your favorite river song?

In the meantime, enjoy the flow of these selections…

No matter! We decided to make the most of it and go anyway. We recruited my cousin and her husband to join us. Despite nosebleed seats and frigid temps we had a blast. On the way in we met other revelers who were passionate SEC football fans, just there for the booze. And we made friends with some Clemson guys seated in front of us, one of whom loved to fish and spent most of the game showing us fishing pictures on his phone and talking about South Carolina sheep-head with the Professor.

Kind of a problem later in the game when he received a text that his friends were detained by police. As he was trying to deal with the logistics of johnny-law, his phone ran out of juice. Oh well. It is my experience fisherman love to talk fishing at the expense of many things.

As it should be.

Cheers to our new Clemson fans, and I hope everyone is gearing up for a full, blue-moon New Years Eve and preparing to watch a lot of football tomorrow. In the meantime, enjoy some shaky footage of our adventure at the Music City Bowl the other night:

Click here to view the embedded video.

My dad raised an eyebrow and shook his head, Stevie tried not to smile while poling for the last fish and my mom worked her Sudoku without looking up. The bonefish dismissed me as well.

No matter, I’ve taken the technique stateside. Turns out fish, friends and family ignore me just the same in freshwater as they do in salt. Last shot of the day on the Missouri and I bust out the Donna Summer tune. I simply can’t hold it in! Little Chick will be hot and hungry and bored and acapella I promise her to a disco beat, “Last cast…this is my last cast of the da-a-ay.”

Last cast, last dance, last waltz — what fly fisherman doesn’t love a good Hail Mary? Perhaps that explains my recent lapse in judgment in taking Little Chick downtown last Friday evening, the night before Halloween, to 6th Street among the drunken costumed rabblerousers and the panhandling homeless just so we could see the Michael Jackson movie ‘This Is It’. Hey, what can I say? Whether it’s fishing, disco, rock or pop, I have a soft spot for a swan song.

Which is why I have some really big news…

Unless you have spent most of this calendar year hiding under a rock like a molting nymph, you are probably aware that the Drake Fly Fishing Film Tour of 2009 was wildly successful, hitting more cities than ever with topnotch films. But what you may not know is that you have one more chance to see these incredible films before the 2010 tour begins. Last Dance Texas…

Tailwaters Fly Fishing in Dallas, TX is hosting one last stop on the 2009 Drake FFFT:

Fly Fishing Film Tour 2009 at Tailwaters

Nov 11th, doors open at 7 pm

Dallas Texas

The films are superb and of course look amazing on the big screen. Plus, the guys at Tailwaters do a great job and always throw a fine party so don’t tarry…buy your tickets now! Remember what happened last time I told you to get your tickets? Sell out. Big time. So you might as well trust me this go round and get your tickets pronto! Click ticket to buy online.

These treasure trout were always tucked in close, about one inch from the edge, behind a rock, and under an overhanging Russian Olive tree. Miraculously they also seemed to benefit from a rogue branch dipping out onto the water about one foot upstream, as well as a curiously timed burst of wind that repelled any shot at a quick Smash-and-Grab.

Time to rob some banks.

We were stealthy in our approach, casing each joint in hushed tones, casting from crouched and seated positions. We covered for each other by feathering the oars and gently letting out anchor rope. We threw everything but lit sticks of dynamite at those banks, feverishly trying to penetrate their heightened security and make off with at least one aquatic hostage from each spot.

Good Lord couldn’t we find just one dumb hungry fish chasing caddis emergers in the middle of the river? Just one blind elderly woman with her wallet hanging out of her purse on the subway?

Apparently not. And of course that made it all the more fun once we caught them. Or hooked them. Or…..at least got them to eat before we rowed our getaway boat on down the river.

Like any legendary bank robbing spree, reality eventually catches up bringing it all to a crashing end. But it sure was fun while it lasted! Enjoy the following evidence slideshow from The Great Missouri Trout Heist.

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After the film show wrapped up last week, a group of us traveled down to Port Aransas to chase after redfish and soak up the scene on the Texas coast. We wade fished on the first day and saw plenty of tailing fish. I had a little trouble getting in position to make casts some of the time, but it was so cool to see so many schools of fish, and I did hook up eventually.

The Professor drove all the way from Alabama, Miles Nolte flew in from Montana, and Tosh was the ultimate Host of the Coast.

On the second day of fishing, I kayaked with Tosh and he put me on several schools of tailing fish. Conditions were tough with clouds, wind and higher water, but we were undeterred. It was an absolute blast fishing from the kayak.

On our last night we met up up with the rest of the group where we laughed, drank and ate copious amounts of food, including grilled sausage and chicken, deep fried zucchini, fried jalapenos, fried trout, and some potato concoction that sorta blew my mind it was so good.

It was a big time down in Port Aransas. I can’t wait to go back. I am fairly obsessed with redfish at the moment and keep seeing those tails every time I close my eyes. For more pictures and some good tunes by Texas musician Phil Pritchett, enjoy this little slideshow I’ve whipped together.

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We’ve been sold out since last week. People have been clamoring for tickets, calling the Drake and practically scalping & trading online. The beer was cold and started flowing early. The weather was gorgeous so the Alamo closed off the nearby street and the pre-party vendor brigade turned into quite the block party. The films rocked, the crowd was into it and the evening went by all too fast.

I am so grateful to everyone who came, to the sponsors and the door prize donors, and to the Alamo Drafthouse. Special thanks to Tosh Brown for serving as our fearless leader in pulling all this together. He flew Miles Nolte in from Montana to sign copies of The Alaska Chronicles and I have to say there was much fanfare for Gaper’s arrival. Everyone was excited to welcome him to Texas.

I was delighted to offer Miles a place to crash at my house, although at 2 am after many many celebratory beers at The Horseshoe Lounge I can’t imagine what he must have thought when he saw the explosion of pink in my “guest” room. Oh you yeah, you guessed it. Miles had to sleep in Little Chick’s room:

Now you may recall my effort in getting the Governor’s support for this show. Gutless Wonder never called me back. So then a few weeks later I was on another airplane, this time with freakshow localebrity, The Lizard Man. I thought for sure he would want to be a part of my marketing campaign for the show. But he wouldn’t return my calls or emails.

¿Cuál es el problema? I am being snubbed by the Lizard Man? Are you kidding me?

I was feeling mildly dejected in my effort to add localebrity buzz. So you can imagine my delight when I was driving down the street and saw Leslie, Austin’s most famous homeless person and the unofficial spokesperson for the KEEP AUSTIN WEIRD campaign. Lo and behold Leslie was thrilled to endorse the Austin Film Show! So a big thanks goes out to my new friend Leslie Cochran.

I know all the other cities are having really successful film shows as well, but I think it’s safe to say that Austin is the only stop on the tour with Leslie Cochran as the opening the act.

Brace yourself for the preview we aired at the show last night:

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