I guess you're always right!

Instead of resounding the tasks of an ill labor brought forth in taste,
I will ratify the sweating waters bulbous and forked tongued.
Our gifts were sultry and nothing ever came of them.

May the steps slithered below that empty brow bring you near.
Antiquated because nothing fits or is sought for use precluded by those harmonious swells of your chest.
And we never speak like this,
God has you, you part the encompassed, and all you are is radiant.

Old Dusties

I'd rather ride along the Furnace Creek at Old Dusties. The scenery is fine and nothings going to compromise my good times and nobody has any qualms to exact any tolls on the things that I see fit. Because I chose them before I set foot here and now they are permanent fixtures in a place I can't leave and nobody makes it back from permanence, locked in perseveration.
You can see Jesus looking down from a veiled pane under foot but his eyes are closed bowing to the Master of Ceremony.
The creek spoke in it's murmurs, and washed over the rocks in the finite time.
By the time they were gone I was still there, walking, riding, and giving no quarter to those above, below, and alongside me in the land of no clocks.

Or the latter.

In the damp canyon we huddled about bent at our haunches with the mist clinging to nothing and hanging about us. Fire twinkled under eyes drunk with anticipation and tongues pushed chaw across the horseshoe of lower lips, we'd been here before. The river ran behind us and I could hit it with a good stone if I tried, it was the color of slate and after the crest hours prior it left the remnants of branches and riff strewn in exile lapping at the tips with the swirl of the eddies and the pulse that all rivers show near their edges. The moon was bright but indifferent between the vapors filling the lower canyon. No one spoke in the fire trance, no one looked at the bottle as it were passed about like a communion to us, this place, this moment. We share everything in these moments, and the things we keep to ourselves ride out sooner than we'd like.
The morning would be there, and the sun would burn through the blanket of mist. The boats would launch and we'd be casting and battling wits with something that has a brain 1000 times less than us but knows this river 2000 times more. The rolling tongues and riffles would give spin to eddies and backwaters, the seams pealing off the boulders in the current would spin sand dunes under the surface to mask the down stream side of it's creator. The steelhead would take the hook in it's maw and run for a place most of us have never felt, a line of confusion and self preservation between us in the form of nylon and plastic and capping one side is fear and survival and the other is foolish pride.
We'll share a moment and part ways.
The boat will reach the take out and we'll part ways again, and the things we keep to ourselves will come out once more, and no one will hear them.

Coogan

Two years ago tonight, one of my best friends was murdered for no reason, bumping into a chump at a Halloween party. He taught me how to snowboard, we learned to surf together, ollie together, and we caused enough fun and trouble to be locked up for life.
Charles Coogan Kelly, I miss you more than ever. We'll ride together soon.

Jealousy

I came upon a sleeping buck
He dove across the sage and scrub
and nothing bound him to his bed
The bed I served to roust him from
the earth held no ties and
the dog chased him
his freedom chased me
my spirit scraping knees on the scrub
nothing I could do but watch
and the sky made no remarks
the bounds were enough to drown most men
And I was a steamship looking down on them.

I fell in love with rivers, of their very nature and what they have taught me. I fell in love with their truth, their sincerity, and their unforgiving fortitude. If you've stood in one as much as I have, you'll feel the same.

There are those times..

when you find something you weren't looking for, and these are things that complement your beliefs, shrink your world, and make you slightly closer to that dangerous feeling of contentment.

Via Buster, I discovered this last night.

Drinking Song, by Jim Harrison

I want to die in the saddle. An enemy of civilization.
I want to walk around in the woods, fish and drink.
I'm going to be a child about it and I can't help it,
I was born this way and it makes me very happy to fish and drink.

I left when it was still dark and walked on the path to the river,
the Yellow Dog, where I spent the day fishing and drinking.

After she left me and I quit my job and wept for a year and all
my poems were born dead, I decided I would only fish and drink.

Water will never leave earth and whiskey is good for the brain.

What else am I supposed to do in these last days but fish and drink?

In the river was a trout and I was on the bank, my heart in my chest,
clouds above, she was in NY forever and I, fishing and drinking.

Blasting Birds is always Fun.

Beer, Bird, Dinner, Dog, My old youth 20 Gauge, and a fall day that was T-shirt weather.
Rosie scores her first bird that she didn't chew up, and I got a measly morsel.
That bitch is getting bacon wrapped and shallot shoved as soon as I blast a few more.
Dove, Quail, and Chuckar Feast coming soon. You bring the beer, I'll shove some birds in yer face.

Where the Wild Things Are

The Job Interview handshake grip.

I even donated about a dozen newly tied micro-mays to the river at one point today.
I guess we're even.


I busted this guys party up. Sorry if I CB'd you you ole bastard.
I still need to go blast a deer this fall. My freezer is empty.

Today it was good to get the fuck out of dodge and spend some alone time with my mistress.

The Projects

Lenny called me up and invited me up to "The Project". This place was restored by a prestigious fish school. I'll leave it at that.
It's on private land, and Lenny married into the family.
There are some monsters in here, I had a healthy brown hit my streamer nearly right in front of me. My old buddy Grayson had a brown on in the 25+ range in the summer.
But today it was the average 14 to 16 inch wild rainbows who were hammering our streamers. All streamers, all day. That's the best way to fish in my book. Dry flies are fun, but when these wild bows tackle your #4, you get to go for a ride.
first blood

average fish

Lenny and his lobster.