“I’m like a train. All hard and putting off steam in my Carhart flannels and my dusty jeans… BABY” -Kid Rock

We drove up Indy Pass in order to piss on both sides of the divide after a weekend of covert bass transference missions and our feeling that the guts of the runoff is over were confirmed. The Fork is that perfect tea color and stones are crawling about, and if we’re lucky, we won’t be tying on nymphs for a few months. Doug “Dougworld” Moyer is down in the bowels of the Black Canyon, his eyes operating independently like some exotic tropical lizard. I have not received any recon from the canyon but I’m sure the reports are good. There’s no such thing as a bad trip when Moyer is involved. My son and I slapped on some serious Oakley bling and generally disturbed the bait and tackle crew in Grand Junction. They’re not used to seeing fly rods at Corn Lake, especially in the hands of guys sporting goggles. At the rate we were hooking bluegill, we needed our Oaks for safety gear if nothing else. Polarized goggles are a super badass fishing tool. I would like to say I came up with the goggle idea, but I think Giff gets the credit. ENOUGH OF THIS WARM WATER SHIT ALREADY WE LIVE IN TROUT COUNTRY. The guys that I fish with mostly moved west to get away from bass and bluegill, but I admire a bluegill’s efforts to force anything into their faces. Browns will try to eat stuff bigger than their heads on a regular basis. I once saw a 16-inch brown grab a 12-inch rainbow by the face and mash him into a rock until the Bow croaked. I think the brown got fed up with the competition. Never stand between a big fish and his rib-eye. The national river surfing championships are in Glenwood this weekend, but after my last beating I think I will go flyfishing instead—probably better for all parties concerned.

Live from the World Headquarters
Kea C. Hause esq.