Even Bonefish Get The Blues
April 8th, 2009
For one scintillating week our coterie of characters shed the coat of everyday armor and peeled away the mask of regular routine to dive into a counterculture escapade that involved chasing bonefish all over Exuma and floating on water so blue that our dreams will forever be tinted a certain shade of Bahamian azure.
Our only job each day was to ride the tide of a waxing crescent moon and kiss each bonie bye-bye as we journeyed forth to meet the next one. Just to keep us on our toes there were stingrays and cudas and sharks– oh my! At night we would indulge in conch fritters and grilled grouper and dance to salty soul music before collapsing into slumber and waking to do it all over again.
It was so dreamlike and delicious that I feel a few Tom Robbins quotations coming on:
“To be or not to be isn’t the question. The question is how to prolong being.”
“Humanity has advanced, when it has advanced, not because it has been sober, responsible, and cautious, but because it has been playful, rebellious, and immature.”
“Disbelief in magic can force a poor soul into believing in government and business.”
“I believe in nothing, everything is sacred. I believe in everything, nothing is sacred.”
“We’re our own dragons as well as our own heroes, and we have to rescue ourselves from ourselves.”
“Using words to describe magic is like using a screwdriver to cut roast beef.”
On that note, let me put down my screwdriver…
About To Be Exhumed
March 26th, 2009
ex-hume — (verb) to revive or restore after neglect or a period of forgetting; to bring to light. (Oh yeah, and it also has that other creepy meaning…something about digging up a buried body.)
Another year has eeked along and now it is finally here: my annual trip to Exuma with my parents. Of course that makes it sound like I have been doing this trip for eons, when in reality it is my parents that have been doing this trip for eons, not me. I finally just wised up about two or three years ago and invited myself to tag along.
So it’s time to exhume the soul with some Exuma fishing. Time to scrape away the layers of sediment that have settled throughout the winter months and start digging for bones – hungry bones, big bones, schooling bones. Hopefully we can bring some of those grey ghosts to the surface and see if they show up on camera.
I head out tomorrow morning, so if it’s a little quiet in here for the next week or so, don’t panic. No need to go all CSI on me and call in the forensics team. I will be back with stories and pictures and at the very least an empty bottle of Kalik that you can dust for my prints. (Spoiler Alert: I bet you find ‘em there.)
So just to get us all in the Exuma mood I resurrected this montage that has been buried in the FFC archives since last year’s trip. Take care & I will catch you on the flipside!
SIDE NOTE: For those of you deathgrind music fans who accidentally found this post while searching on Google for the band EXHUMED…Sorry!
Jalapeno Poppers Are Practically Kryptonite
March 22nd, 2009
I had this brilliant idea to roam around Austin with a video camera during South By Southwest, putting up FFFT posters while trying to catch a music celeb who might give us a little video testimonial to help promote the show.
I thought I could film them saying something like, “When SXSW wraps up, pretty much the only thing I will have to live for is the Fly Fishing Film Tour. Thank heavens a brilliant group of people had the foresight to bring the show to Austin. It’s coming Wednesday April 22, and I wouldn’t miss it for the world. In fact, where’s my iphone? I want to buy my ticket right now!”
I know it’s hard to believe, but even a solid, air-tight plan such as this was actually derailed at the mere mention of a boatride and deep-fried delicacies.
I am, in fact, afraid to report that I was lured away from my assignment. Admittedly, my resolve had already been weakened since my previous attempt at securing a celebrity endorsement was a complete bust. (Let’s just say the Governor is not returning my phone calls. What’s up with that, anyway?)
So instead of beating the street and hanging up posters all over town, I spent Saturday cruising around Lake Austin and indulging in beer, a burger, and all sorts of fried food at Ski Shores. Nothing inspires complete and utter procrastination like a gorgeous TX Hill Country day and a little red basket of stuffed jalapeño poppers.
I simply couldn’t resist. Good call though, wouldn’t you say?
No, I Did Not Sign The Covenant
February 12th, 2009
Harkening back to the holidays, I promised Kentucky Jim I would share the tale of my brief roadtrip from Nashville to Kentucky. You see, the holidays were abuzz with food and spirits and activity and I needed a mini escape from my escape, so to speak. A 24-hour respite to relax and wind down. So we decided to drive over to Kentucky and stay at Shaker Village, which was once a religious community but is now a serene and decadent country inn.
Now let me tell you the Shakers were pious people. And I mean pious! On becoming a Shaker one would sign a sacred Covenant, giving up all worldly possessions and agreeing to a lifetime of celibacy. Marriages were dissolved and your children became brothers and sisters of the overall ‘family’. Shakers worked diligently at broom-making, weaving, farming, and all of their labor benefited a higher power and the common good of the their community.
And they were not allowed to speak at mealtimes.
WHOA!!! Are you kidding me?? They had to eat in total silence?! Those of you who have broken bread with this Chick know that would be really hard for me. While I have the utmost respect for the Shaker way of life, thankfully their rules no longer govern guests of the inn.
And in case you’re curious I did some homework and apparently modern Shakers have loosened up on the whole no-talking-at-mealtime rule. Whew.
At any rate we were inspired to journey into Kentucky on this soul-cleansing, rejuvenating mission. Halfway there we ventured off the highway for lunch. Apparently GPS devices are more and more sophisticated these days because our GPS seemed to know the true character of the people in the vehicle, as it detoured us away from our spiritual journey and straight into Bardstown, KY The Bourbon Capitol of the World.
Loved Bardstown. We kicked around and checked it out before finding a spot to eat. It has all these beautiful old buildings and a charming antique cemetery. Not to mention giant bourbon distilleries which were fascinating.
But back to the task at hand. After lunch we reprogrammed the GPS (not to mention our focus) and ventured on to Shaker Village, which I will say far exceeded our expectations. The meals were delicious, the buildings are beautifully restored and the countryside was magnificent. A hiker’s paradise with horse trails and people trails alike. The sunset rivaled any that I have experienced anywhere. And the snow flurries on the walk to breakfast were storybook.
Everything about Shaker village was pristine and peaceful and for a brief moment, time seemed to stand completely still. It was a breath of fresh air.
Enjoy a little montage of the roadtrip from Nashville to Shaker village KY:
They Finally Just Had to Whiskey Me Away From Tennessee
January 6th, 2009
In the dark of night.
After two and a half weeks in Nashville for the holidays, Little Chick and I finally returned to Austin last night…under duress. We had soooo much fun, it was a difficult and wrenching process to pack up the steamer trunks and venture home last night. And WHY exactly was I on an airplane during most of the Fiesta Bowl?? Killing me. Luckily I established a rapport with the pilot early and he announced scores for me periodically during the flight.
Other than football I will say this was the girliest vacation of my life. I am sorry to say, I couldn’t have a less fishy report to share with you. I was so busy running around with my bestest highschool girlfriends and playing with Little Chick. Dressing up for one party after the next. Baking and eating and sipping wine at every turn.
It was pretty decadent. I’m sorry, is there a recession going on? My waistline does not aptly reflect the ailing economy. I feel like I should look a little more frail given the state of the state. Alas….there were just too many baked goods around.
I wish I had pictures of all the wonderful food, but I was too busy consuming it to slow down and get the camera. Highlights include….the beautiful oyster bar on my friend’s family porch…the endless supply of Great Aunt Eleanor’s Chili Dip that my mother had on the kitchen counter at every turn (perfect with beer and football)….Little Chick’s sugary sweet sugar cookies….Kobe beef sliders with spicy mustard and just one perfect pickle….Sportsfan’s sublime steak on New Year’s Eve…Magnolia’s bread pudding…super country Country Ham….crab cakes and steak frite at Bricktops….the most heavenly biscuit-like dinner rolls you’ve ever imagined….exceptional sushi we discovered at The Red Pony in Franklin….chocolate pecan pie…lemon pie….chess pie…chess pie again…chess pie one more time….and yes, I even had a Moon Pie.
I should also mention the to-die-for coconut cake my aunt serves at Christmas lunch. I was so mesmerized by its beauty I almost failed in my duty to slice and serve it. I really can’t stop thinking about this cake! And I’m not even sure I really even like coconut.
Sounds indulgent I know. But there’s no rest for the weary — or apparently for the gluttonous– as I insisted The Professor drive me down to Elliston Place so I could visit my absolute favorite Nashville haunt, Rotier’s. A family owned restaurant in an old stone carriage house, Rotier’s is the uber romantic dive where my dad used to take my mom on dates in college. Of course you can get a meat-and-three but Rotier’s is best known for it’s cheeseburger — hell, Jimmy Buffet even says they’re tops. Personally I recommend the Patty Melt.
Food, fancy & parties galore…that’s pretty much the report. Now that I’m home, I am officially on a break from all of the following until further notice:
- High Heels
- Hairdryers
- Carbs
- Being Charming
As I make my transition back to regular life of clogs, flip-flops and ponytails, enjoy this slideshow from our holidays in Tennessee. But stay tuned because in my next post I am going to distill the highlights of my 20-hour roadtrip to Kentucky. Cheers…
But, What? We Don’t Have Them Oars.
October 16th, 2008
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.
Tunes, Toobs & Trout
May 28th, 2008
Okay, so we only saw two out of three on the river over Memorial Day. It was a straight-up, knock-it-back, hill country honkytonk holiday weekend. The trout were likely hunkered down low, shuddering in fear and mocking us all as we devolved into my favorite variety of the human species, The Hillbillius Redneckus.
Joke is on those snooty trout because it was a hell of a good time.
Going Gruene
April 26th, 2008
Back in February I ventured down to Gruene to fish the Guadalupe and play with friends. Clear water, cold beer, hungry fish, lots of laughs.
It was a pretty great way to spend a day…
Momma Told Me There’d Be Days Like This
April 15th, 2008
Last spring I went bonefishing in Exuma Bahamas and we had a big big time. Lots of fish. Some pretty big fish. We had one day on the water that was just out of sight, one bonefish right after the next. Toward the end of this gluttonous day, each time someone caught another, our guide Steve would sing out, “Momma told me there’d be days like this!”
I spent about six months looking at the pictures from that trip, smiling and singing that song in my mind. Somewhere around November or December I actually downloaded it onto my ipod, stopped looking at last year’s pictures, and starting daydreaming about this year’s trip.
No question, last year was going to be tough to beat. Really tough. But hot damn! You know what…I think we did it.
I spent last week in Exuma with my parents and some really close family friends — we laughed for a solid week. And our good friend Bonefish Stevie is still like a heat-seeking missile when it comes to finding those bonefish.
Seven days of sunny skies, salty breezes, friendly tides…bonefish and Kalik.
Uh yeah, what Steve said.
Spirit of the Suwannee
April 1st, 2008
My eyes are just now coming into focus and my motor skills starting to click back into action. I’ve just returned from a trippy little trip to Florida for ‘Springfest’ – a three day music festival held at The Spirit of the Suwannee campgrounds.
I suppose the best way to describe the music at Springfest is folksy, jammin’ bluegrass. But like a newly branded and re-launched Oldsmobile, this is not your father’s bluegrass. These musicians rocked the sap from the trees and rattled the fillings in your teeth.
Hot Buttered Rum earned their title leaving me feeling giddy and full like I’d had a big country breakfast and too many hot toddies. They were adorable and had the crowd hoppin’. The Infamous Stringdusters were a great afternoon toe-tapping show. And you could feel the energy shift when David Grisman came out. The fun got serious with this living legend. He took his mandolin to war (friendly fire of course) with a teenage mandolin prodigy and together they made some magic.
We saw Donna The Buffalo the first afternoon, but we were wilting in the sun a bit, and truth be told we were more consumed with rating the dancing hippie girls and their hula hoops. I am so getting a hula hoop. I don’t care how long it takes I am going to learn to dance with a hula hoop. Check back with me, I may have to set up a unique website just to chart my progress.
But we saw Donna The Buffalo the next night and loved them. The crowd was lit-up and the musicians really delivered. It’s always a good time when the accordions and the washboards come out to play.
Of course I came to the festival with my natural draw toward Texas and Tennesee tunes, and my bands represented well. I’ve been listening to Guy Clark since I was about five years old but have never seen him play. So it was damn cool to hear him croon Texas 1947 and LA Freeway right before my very own eyes.
Jim Lauderdale wins my Hillbilly Sex Symbol award for the festival. He had this kind of 70s-style pompadour hair, royal blue tuxedo pants, and the cuffs on his shirt were open – not rolled up mind you – just the pearl snaps were undone and the sleeves hanging loose at his wrists. Ooh la la.
Oh yeah, and his music was great.
I saw him by the merchandise table that night, and he totally busted me ogling him. He came my way and I probably could have shared a little repartee, but I got shy, panicked like a schoolgirl, and turned the other way.
Amy LaVere was out of sight. She’s a pocket sized little beauty who plays the standup bass and bounces between a super-sweet baby voice and belting out southern-fried ballads with the power of Ethel Merman. Boys’ hearts fluttered her way, while I was dreamy for her guitar player.
Now Seth Walker plays his fresh style of electric blues in my Austin neighborhood on a weekly basis. But after two airplane rides and five-hours in the car, I felt so incredibly lucky to see him in this setting. A rustic, woodsy amphitheater surrounded by tall live oaks that were covered in Spanish moss.
There was so much Spanish moss dripping from the trees that everything began to look like a Salvador Dali painting. (Admittedly, the exorbitant volumes of Sweetwater beer may have played a hand in this.) I love Spanish moss, and it was a badass backdrop for all this delicious music. I’ve always said I could never be a spy because if caught, all they’d have to do is dangle some Spanish moss in front of me and I’d sing like a drunk dizzy bird.
Speaking of being a drunk dizzy bird…I know we loved loved loved Railroad Earth, but I can’t tell you why. They played late on Friday and that show is a bit hazy.
Of course the music was sublime, but it was the people that made the trip so special for me. Lounging around our campfire, we laughed at our own recycled stories until our cheeks hurt. And out among the crowds, tie-dyed hospitality was everywhere. It was all peace love & brotherhood. Everyone was warm and open and just so grateful to be there. 
As we followed the breadcrumbs back to our tents each night, we made a point of walking up to visit random campsites – you know just to introduce ourselves, check out their fire, see what bands they’d enjoyed. In the real world our drunken pop-ins might not have been well received, but in this hippie utopia we were greeted with genuine enthusiasm — and quite often a beer.
It was a magical weekend and I can honestly say that the Spirit of the Suwannee is highly contagious. I just hope they never find a cure.
