Hooligan's Holiday

I know.

I've dropped the 'blogging ball'.

It's not that I haven't been fishing, or that the addiction of setting a nice chunky-monkey has lessened any over the past 12 months. But after a while, the same old trip, with the same old fish pics starts to wear a little thin.

There's only so many ways I can tell you about getting up early, my passion for all things bacon, or my penchant for drinking ice-cold coke at 4 in the morning.

And let's be brutally honest here - it's not like I can intelligently discuss flies. I mean, seriously, here's a picture of my 'fly-box':

That, right there, is legit - that's what I normally hit the river with. I don't use a fly-box because I rarely have more than a dozen flies. Would you really want to take 'fly advice' from a guy like me? Yeah, I didn't think so.

Ok, so there's that. But also, I really started to appreciate not having to shoot video, or take a picture, every time I pulled a decent fish - and if there's no pics to post, there's really nothing left but my inane ramblings, which are not a strong selling point, in and of themselves (my Manifesto, not withstanding).

Unlike some other kids, that actually possess sick writing skills, and can enthrall an audience with just a few sentences (Erin...I'm looking at you), I am relegated to the island of misfit bloggers, where short, sarcastic quips and crude, cave-man-like humor are the rule.

No, I'm just a hack that throws flies and manages to get lucky every once in a while and, like a dog that just fetched you the paper, is proud of that accomplishment when it does happen.

Tail wagging, tongue lolling from the side of my mouth, I'll post the pics proudly - which is far better than the alternative of me constantly trying to sniff your nether regions.

Discussing the technical aspects of how I hooked the fish, or the details behind the particular flies I used, is something I've never really been good at - mainly because my gray matter was damaged beyond repair in my younger days. But also, there are so many other sources out there, that do a much better job of it than I ever could, why embarrass myself?

Sure, I could do write-ups, such as how to read the water ("See? It's wet. And it's moving that way...") or the nuances of drifts ("If you toss your fly upstream, inevitably, it ends up downstream...isn't that incredible?") but somehow I don't see that as bringing anything substantial to the table, either.

So instead, you get pictures and crude humor...well, you used to get pictures, I should say.

But now I'm about to rectify that, since the River Damsel is good at hanging that over my head.

Also, special circumstances require exceptions. And the previous weekend was an exception.

Let me 'splain:

Reason #1: Thanks to three months of very little wiggle room, I felt like I was dangerously close to grabbing the headline in the Denver Post - so a trip to my favorite river is a much-needed respite, and sure-fire way to decompress.

Reason #2: My nephew and bro-in-law flew out to pick up my old truck...and they decided to hit the river with me on their drive back to Utah. And, had it not been for Scott, there probably wouldn't be any pictures to post to begin with, so now I really don't have any excuses.

Reason #3: Josh (aka Bigerrfish) also decided to join the fun - the last time we fished together, we both left feeling like we had some unfinished business to attend to, so this allowed us to pick up where we left off.

Ergo, a special weekend. And not just any ol' special 'two-day' weekend, either. Pffft. Those are so yesterday...we're talking a new and improved, mega-fun-sized 4-day weekend.

I know, right? Hella-bad-ass'd.

(Kids, feel free to use that one in your next writing assignment - the teacher will love it, I promise.)

Now, a 4-day weekend is a winner in anybody's book - but 4 days with temps in the upper 40s...in the high-country...in March? Pinch me, I must be dreaming.

Which is a really stupid thing to say - if I am dreaming, and it's awesome, why would I want you to wake me up? Let alone, waking me up via pinching?

And at what point did we agree that pinching would be the preferred method to begin with? Poked with a sharp stick? Nah, too aggressive. Slap on the ass? Too subtle and, possibly, misconstrued. Pinching? Hmmmm....

So, yeah, excellent weather, great company, and on one of my favorite pieces of water.

Thursday afternoon, I went to the river by myself (mainly because I'm sick like that) and lo! and behold! I had it all to myself. Not a soul in sight.

Anybody that says clean living doesn't pay...let me tell you...it just might. I'm sure if you lived a clean life, you might go to your favorite river and find that you're the only one there. Me? I just happened to get lucky.

Or so I thought.

Come to find out, the water was low, the bottom was thick and dark with algae, and the fish were skittish. Not just a little....we're talking full-blown, meth-head-paranoia skittish. With conditions like that, it's no wonder folks were taking a rain-check.

But...and there's always a 'but', otherwise, I wouldn't have written this post. BUT...using stealthy, ninja-like skills, I set out to methodically stalk my prey, while quietly fingering the points of my throwing stars.

Not really. Just because I'm half Japanese, there's no need to perpetuate the stereotype that all Asians carry throwing stars and are versed in martial arts. I, myself, prefer to use Tonfa sticks. So there.

And no, I'm not into Tenkara.

Anyway, I did manage to land some fish AND, I did have a camera with me (hello? special occasion, remember?) however, the battery quickly drained while I was filming my first catch.

I know what you're saying, "HA! Fish stories!"

No. I'm old and tend to forget to do simple things like...oh, charge the battery in the camera for use on a special occasion.

True story - last August, I got up one Saturday, relaxing...doing normal Saturday-ish sort of stuff. I go out to get the mail and, once back inside, realized that I had forgot to put my shorts on. I went out to the mailbox IN MY BOXERS because I'm OLD and thought that I was wearing my shorts.

So there you have it, in all of it's ugly glory. It was a round-about way to explain why my battery died, and I'm sorry you had to hear it, but now you know.

So other than the one fish pic, I've got nothing else except the photos my brother-in-law captured.

Friday, was a full day on the river and, unlike the night before, there were actually some folks out tossing their lines and enjoying the great weather - enough people to have some good conversation with, but few enough so that the water didn't feel crowded.

Overall, Josh and I did fairly well, given the conditions, and I think he's managed to exorcise the demons from past trips with some excellent hook-ups.

At one point, during the day, I just happened to glance up to see his rod get violently yanked - he'd stuck a bull, and this thing took off like a bat out of hell. I'll leave the details to that one up to him if he decides to post, but I can tell you this - it was a beast of a fish, and it was not pleased at getting stung in the lip by 'Fairy Dust'.

As for my nephew, he put in some good hours throwing a hook. Still being relatively new to fly fishing, he put his nose to the grindstone and worked his tail off, on some of the toughest water around. I'm proud of his effort and, no doubt, it'll pay off for him down the road.

After a long day of fishing, it was back into town for a solid steak dinner, humorous conversation, and a flatulent older gentleman in the booth behind us. When you get down to it, days just don't get much better than that.

Even more so, since I remembered to actually put my pants on for the meal.