This Is It.

I've kept it under wraps for months and months.  I didn't tell a god damn soul until 2 months ago.  I don't think I could deal with another failure like Alaska last year.  That still stings more than you can know.

I'm jumping on my bike and pedaling south, either to the end of the world in Tierra Del Fuego or until I run out of money, whichever suits me.

Last day of work today.
First day of homelessness.

I am sticking around till the 10th - The 8th is the first day of chukar in Nevada, and the first Sharks game of the regular season is that night.  Birds and hockey.

I need to be humbled.  I need to get away from this town.  I need to get out of the first world.
Too many complainers, too many complacent people dragging me down.

It's hard for most people to understand why you would want to get rid of nearly all of your possessions and ride a bicycle alone for months at a time.

That's fine.  Hopefully I can explain a bit of the why the next few months.

First leg - Reno to San Diego.

Keep your ears open.

Rocking for Mounties.

The grass was Jurassic Park sized. Saw 4 raptors. And a triceratops.

You can kick every chunk of manzanita, or you can hire some hyper dogs.

First tacos of the year.

It was a good start to the season. 

Thanks Djod!

For holiday weekends and hell raising.

For both Joe and Coach falling in the river at the exact same time on opposite banks. (Snipers are always the excuse.)

For the golden stones deciding to hatch in August/September this year and the crack like response from the troots.

For Joe's father and his thick South African accent (which in a quiet room is, at best, barely decipherable) and his incessant need to tell you every detail of what he's doing two riffles down over the roar of mid-river - "Eh, Lar-ree! Goableshaunts and piss coff tanquas! Ahahahah ehh?!!"

Sure thing, Mr. Bentel.

Catching an all dry fly grand slam on the Truckee.

Hooking a cutthroat on the bait chuckin' leader loop sticking 3 inches out of his mouth.

And a special "You're an asshole, a real big one." to the guy typing away on his smart phone for over an hour whilest his young son struggled to figure out what fishing was all about.

A good few days on the water. Bird season (the first one I care about) is in 4 days. See you and your dog in the hills.

Bummer, Snake.

Idaho falls victim to itself.

Via the Spokesman-Review.

Option Paralysis, Creeping Thoughts, and a Shotgun.

I've been suffering from option paralysis lately. 

I also believe time's not your friend.

Dog days, stagnation, microcosmic attention span, dirty office job, the need to prolong the lengthening of tooth.

I guess what I'm trying to get at is this: I'm really fucking glad I get to go shoot quail with my dog in 12 days.

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.