Ron Popeil is slapping himself right now...

"Stupid, STUPID, stupid Ron.. I know I shoulda used the Pocket Fisherman money to research a post-mortem game bird taser... God damit."



  I'm not going to go on a tirade on the merits of purist hunting, but I will say this:

This shit needs to stop. Seriously.

I do welcome the hunting industry's awesome marketing contingent.  This commercial makes me laugh to no end.

You really are the Man.

And there was a gnashing of teeth, and many wept.  You will need to crank the volume on this one.  And tuck that tenkara rod into the regions spoiled.





I have a love/hate relationship with this man. That being said, after a terrible bout of luck for anybody, (especially an extremely active person) he's now not making excuses and taking longbow shots at whitetails from the ground out of a wheelchair.  Mad props to you Mr. Barta.  Stick to those guns by using wizard weapons, ridiculous notions that make more sense as I age, ridiculous notions that are just ridiculous, and never, EVER change that god damn theme song.

On the Present and the Desires of Memory

  A pull towards fishing, singletrack, birds, breasts.  The moon always sipping these thoughts from you on the back porch. Fishing with your brothers when as far as you're concerned nobody else is on the same earth. Rolling against fast packed berms in high country wildflower fields while this years first coveys burst clear for the brush below. Your dog gaining your trust in matters of scent and location of things desirous to the both of you. Nibbling at ears that have been pierced since she would call boys "gross" and feeling her face squirm against your stubble.

These things trouble me.

A good sit is required to silently discuss any memory of catching them while they matter most.
They always matter most to me when I'm with them. If you could have all of them at once, your heart and head would split clean in four and you would never be able to use them properly again.  Don't dote in the past. Don't proselytize to the uninitiated for the sake of their future and yours. Don't ask questions. Don't look up to that moon or mumble aloud, there are no answers in those places. That giant raccoon that just ran across the top of the back fence has as many answers as you do.

You cannot best yourself by attempting to remain younger than you are at heart. 

All I know is the following: I love tall blondes with blue eyes who talk back when needed.  Game birds who hold till the smartest second, not the last.  Fish that don't need to be grip and grinned.  Bike rides so painful they make you wish you were dead before they're over. The look in my dogs eyes when she drops a bird in my hand.
And the fact I use this place as a sounding board to commit to a false memory all the simple things that have come to define the excitement in my voice.

Jude's First Casting Lesson

I never want to see another grip and grin for the rest of my life.

Randoms of the Summer thus Far.

Coach ate some mud.

Game Face.

Post Game Face 

Trout Treats at Fanny Bridge. Frowned upon by hippy tourists.

Don't go to the dentist, eat dirts instead.

Summoning William Dance.

Team Jorts post-winning the Lake Tahoe 8 Hour.

Jesse D Reeves Winning

Jesse D Reeves Losing, almost severely.

Summoning the Cherokee Falls Bandits.

Fuck you winter.

 Fuck you Crank Brothers.  Winner, World's Shittiest Pedal! After just two rides!

 Back Side of the Sierra Buttes, which happen to be my power source, from the top of Halls Ranch.

 Mid-ride Crisis

 Too many cooks in the kitchen.

Fish bites back.

RAAM!!!

You wanna go on a lil' ride tomorrow?  How about riding across the country from Oceanside, California to Annapolis, Maryland.  Let's make it a race, shall we?  And let's say you're going to do it by yourself (plus support crew to hand you snacks and fresh chamois creme), sleeping less than an hour a day, spending 23 hours a day in the saddle, for no more than 12 days because if you take longer than that to ride 3000 miles sea to shining sea IT DOESN'T FUCKING COUNT.  Welcome to RAAM, The Race Across America.
This is the toughest bike race on Earth.  The Tour De France crowd can't hold a candle to this.  The only two I can think of that compare are Iditabike (yes, the Iditarod Trail, on bikes, in the winter) and the Great Divide Mountain Bike Race down the spine of the Rockies.  But RAAM's pace, its mental and physical torture are unmatched by anything on Earth.  I'm not stating this as a matter of opinion, experience, or arrogance.  This race makes you insane.  The proof is in the pudding.  Solo Men start tomorrow, so pay attention.  It will blow your mind.  ---- > RAAM WILL KILL YOU.
Here's a teaser from Bicycle Dreams. 
Gets weird at 1:50. 

Three Eyes

I think Sophie found the long lost matching eye.

French Bass and Fly!

"Il attrape des poissons syrah et de boissons."

Gotta love Coach.  First time fishing a popper on the fly yesterday, in a downpour, with a bottle of syrah.  And he battles this lil' beauty.  Congrats house sharing man.

Goodbye, Spatchanko.

Spatchanko and I have had quite the relationship over the years.  So much so I don't remember much of it.  Mainly some broken objects scattered around town with the occasional random piece of property magically sitting in my living room when I come around in the morning.  The cover-tuck shame at first light waking up next to Night Beasts I would have never given the nod to.  Money gone from my wallet, a lot of it in fact.  Meeting the same people multiple times.  Remembering nothing. 
It's a damn curse to be charming and persuasive. But that's not me.

I'm pretty damn sick of Spatchanko.   

So I'm cutting him off.  No booze for 60 days.  August 5.

Today happens to be the 4th anniversary of my bike ride across the country.  That also took 60 days.
The more I've thought about it, I haven't felt very challenged since August 5, 2007. 
So here's to Sober Sixty Summer. 
Why broadcast this to you all?  I need some accountability and there's no greater motivator then the "You can't, you won't." crowd.   So bring it on.
And if you see a few pics of booze and fishing, biking and such on this blog before August 5 - They ain't mine. 

Day Ruiner

Way to almost mess the whole day up.  Rookie.  Take note that he not only jumped the fence with the open cooler on his back, he also sprayed that "Fancy Brown Ale" everywhere.