10.16.09 Pinterdike File:

Copenhagen Wars:

Stopped by the local shop to grab some Gink and grotesquely over priced Sri Lankan hoppers for my upcoming Rocky Mountain thoroughfare, and had the distinct pleasure of discussing my trip with a twenty-something who frequently voided the conversation to circle an overstuffed trash can behind the counter where he would fire putrid ejaculations of noxious saliva atop a white Styrofoam cup. In business efficiency parlance we call this behavior “jock scratching,” and I suspect some formal specialty retailer committee already is aware of this bewildering checkout counter tic and should consider vetting in scale, but are too stupid to execute mitigation. I’m certain that once I cross the high plains into fishable trout water, “jock scratching” will accrue Death Panel levels of exhibition.

Fly Media (The Wasteland):

Fly soft porn. Ta-da! You just alienated half your demographic. Let me get this straight, you run a basement blog that pays for weekly treks to Taco John’s, and you’re honestly in a position to piss on all your female reader’s brain stems? Really? Note to self: next time the chronic urge to run a staged photo of Miami Beach models toting 9-weights and Gotchas seductively clipped to their asses pitches a tent in your Tarponwear, pour the microbrew in the sink and head to the community college for Marketing and Branding 101. You don’t have the balls to run a RedTube clip, so let’s just call it what it is: kids playing with matches. Do us all a favor and let the pornography industry handle our T&A.

The Great White Shark Incident:

Captain Conway Bowman brought a great white to the boat. Most people think he’s a dude, which he may be. Another faction declared him an asshole for harassing endangered species (I may have been one of those), or bungling parochial endangered fish-handling canon. Wherever the truth settles, he manned up and posted his side of the story with lucid restraint, knowledge, and grace, which means a lot in a world run amuck with two-bit shills and backstabbing opportunists. Right now, in some bar in a parallel universe, I’m tipping my challis of suds to you Captain Bowman. Well done.

Regrettable Product Stream of Consciousness:

$900 four piece “casting” rods, technical, pastel-colored “casting” shirts, 7x tippet, hand seine bug mittens, sage-colored fedora “casting” hats, camouflage sun glasses, $800 waders, on-river mayfly color charts, zip off “convertible” pants, eleven-foot San Juan River nymphing rods, zinger, $100 fly lines, large arbor trout reels, magnetic key chain rod guard, gadgets that aren’t also bottle openers, Tred Barta or Trevor Gowdy DVDs, rubber floating snail fly, flyfishing edition SUVs, stomach pump (how about a milt pump?), Loopmaster muscle memory imprinter, leader wallets….

600 Hundred Pound Goliath Something:

Moaning, screaming, a broken rod, fisherman on acid with heavy 80s synthesizers… for once, I’m glad to be a fly enthusiast.

Close your eyes and listen from the other room—the family will swear it’s pornography.

https://youtube.com/watch?v=uO07LmQNDnk