I won't tell you where.
But I'll tell you how.
...on dry flies, sucka.
Saturday, January 27, 2007
Tuesday, January 23, 2007
As long as I started this because of you Baco', let me give you creds. Without you this wouldn't have happened the way it did. Life on the epilimnon is grand. 16 feet of liquid displacement, pushed by a moderately eco-nice 6hp Quatro Stroke.
It get's there
Rows like what it is, which beats doggy paddlin' behind it. But it's mine all mine. My first car was a 1978 shit brown Dodge Colt sedan 3 door. It was ugly, but it ran and I was free to careen off into any ditch I wanted. It's kinda like that. I'm too thrilled to care that your metallic bespeckled freak raft can swamp it at half throttle. (Is that 200 horses thar Ace & Gary?) I soak my dubbing at under 5 mph, and thats only when the wind kicks up.
Nipigon River here I come. Belize is out because I have my second prodigy on the way in April...Planning for August or Sept in Ontario. Anybody interested? It'll be Tom's Batch Lore Party. Foreign country, foreign beer, rivers, trout and what-not. Speaking of Belize. I cannot shake Permit. Every night I drift off to a twinkling flat looking for tails. Every day sitting at my desk my eyes refuse to blink. As they dry up and fog over, I see backing ripping through the saltwater...If you go, be ready to redefine your angling pecking order. "I don't know if this 10 weight will hold ..."