alyeska.

well, the only thing that could make the k-tok better than last time would be to share it with friends. fishing was epic. weather was spectacular. food was plentiful. rum was sweet. smokes were smooth. and beer was cold (once we got back to anchorage).
as usual i'll let some photos do the talking.
CLICKY.
good times, fellas. good times.

valhalla.

18 days.

more fun than my job.

but i get to go to alaska in 2 months.

my camera broke.

it's sad. i have nothing to show you.

dry snow.

some highlights from the colorado bachelor party.
their powder v. our slush isn't really even a contest.
good times, fellas. and congrats to the groom.
no one had to ride the red sled this trip, so i penciled this one in as a success.
here's to the next one.

a happy ending.

rocktober.

my favorite month of the year. the blazers are gettin' warmed up. the huskers haven't let me down yet. the mc rib should be coming back soon. and so far, i've caught more steelhead than NFL parlays won.
we hit the deschutes over the weekend with a few hundred of our closest friends.
for shitsake river etiquette is way down these days. knuckle-head campers in every run. we gave it a few hours, landed a beautiful native, high-fived, and headed back to maupin for some tasty, tasty pizza.
we're gonna give it another try this weekend...maybe a different spot, though.

deliverance.

i needed a fuckin' break. a man can only take so many fucking whiny sick patients, annoying fucking co-workers, fucking oozing abscesses, fucking annoying co-workers, that fucker kobe bryant, fucking rain, an incontinent sweet old pup, fuck you AT&T, and fucking annoying co-workers.
first stop was the uber-hyped diamond lake on thursday. i made good time even with a required stop at the caddis in eugene to pick up some chubbies. i quickly set up camp through a cloud of skeeters. it was just warm enough in middle of each day for the mosquitos to be as thick as fog. i blew my nose today at work, and yeah, there was a mosquito in it.




i fished hard in the float tube that night and all day friday at both ends. the wind was tough and my legs were jello, but i found a few fish. it wasn't epic, but my hands smelled like fish slime, which has been a daily goal of mine ever since i lost my virginity.
overall, diamond lake is fun, beautiful, and full of fish, if you have a boat.
i was up at it early again saturday morning for a couple hours, but decided i needed some moving water. and since i was heading to warm springs for sunday, i went north. i have a secret little skinny stretch of the deschutes near redmond that i hadn't yet touched this year.

so now, this is where my weekend got stupid. as i mentioned, i'd been kicking around in a float tube in the wind for three days, so my legs were goo, and this spot was a bit of a hike. it'd be easier to base jump down the canyon wall, but i didn't have a helmet, just waders and some beef jerky, so i scooted down the shale hoping to not slide into a nest of rattlesnakes.
it worked. i fished. it sucked. i gave it a solid 45 minutes and said "fuuuuuuuuuck". i seriously thought about faking a broken leg and calling in the national guard for an air lift out.

so now, this is where my weekend got seriously fucked up. i was winded, tired, thirsty, defeated, and sweaty. the well-worn path through the thick brush and boulders was narrow and looked snakey, so i was focused. then the hairs on the back of my neck started to stand up. my spidey sense was at defcon 10. although i did notice a car parked up near mine, i hadn't seen a soul.
but now, there were people just ahead of me around the corner. i slowly made the turn as wide as i could, my hand already in my pocket holding my small knife. and i hollered out at the same time i started to hear some rustling. the image of one guy's cock coming out of the other guy's ass has had me crying in the shower all week.

i took a few giant steps back as pants and dust started flying. the pitcher, we'll call him, boss hog, took a header into the thorny bushes determined to hide his face. he unsuccessfully hid down the bank from me in clear sight except for his face, i mumbled something awkward about having to walk through their little love nest still clutching my knife in my pocket.

i wasn't in a safe situation. scenes from trainspotting, basketball diaries, and even bob saget screaming "i used to suck dick for coke!" were racing through my mind.

the catcher, we'll call him, enos, was a little more friendly. as i slowly walked back towards them, my only way out, he pops out rockin' his mullet, a muscle shirt, and a spinnin' rod and offers me a beer. i nervously laughed and asked that him and his boyfriend step back so i could boot-scoot through lover's lane and get the fuck outta hazard county.
they did and i got by them and above them. as i continued to climb out, enos continued to chat me up. he asked me how the fishing was, i said, "shitty", he said he had "just got a big brown". i again laughed and stopped short of responding with something that might have gotten me shot.

i got back to my wheels, noticed a second rig (a tricked-out dodge monster truck with shiny rims) and wondered which guy was responding to the craigslist ad?
then i had to put some gangsta rap on the ipod to calm my nerves, and got the hell outta there.

so with that horrible brokeback afternoon behind me, i continued north to the mecca for the evening. it was lovely as usual. hungry fish on the surface with the big, fuzzy chubbies. still cool, no skeeters, no snakes, cold beer, a 24 hour diner in madras, and things were setting up sweetly for an epic sunday.




so now, this is where my weekend got ridiculous. sunday, we fished all day on some new water and absolutely crushed it. one good day rockin' deschutes trout on dries in the central oregon sunshine will give a man a year's worth of fish mojo. i'm pretty sure i could out-fish ernest hemingway right now.
of course that all changes as soon as i go get my steelhead on.

pain.

later, rain...

it's rained here in portland for 213 days straight.
i'm gonna go find some sunshine.
and by sunshine, i mean snow.
and fish.

drawing the line...

this has gone too far. disgusting.

it's well documented within the circle of trust that i have some PTSD related to working with a large population of crack babies' mommas while living in chicago. crack-whore-tainted boob juice was the norm in the special care nursery at my first hospital. when forced to handle it (the juice, not the boob), i used to double-glove, wrap my body in saran wrap, then cry in the shower when i got home from work.
it wasn't pretty.
i've been better lately. maybe it's because there's less of the ol' HIV running around? not sure.
regardless, it's disgusting.
and if you ever want to see me vomit and pass out at the same time...squirt some on me.
maybe that's what i need...some flooding therapy?

just another night at GK...

nba jam, ms. pacman, kong, and "...the wizard needs food badly!"
these are a few of my favorite things.
the one, the only GK.
happy birthday pletsch-zilla.

956 miles later...

i love fishing.

i'll drive a long, long way for that first two or three hours of sunlight creeping over the rimrock. i'll brush my teeth with some chocolate doughnuts and mountain dew. then i'll quietly, carefully hike down a dark, jagged riverbank wearing a headlamp.

i'm quite certain the fish can hear me shut the door on the truck, silence is key.

i find a nice boulder. then settle in behind it, so i can barely feel the current. the green water is moving at the perfect speed at the perfect depth. it's that mystic shit that those knobby-knuckled old timers shake their wading staffs at. it's that religous shit that lets me forget about work and focus only on the swing, those deer bouncing up the canyon wall, and maybe that doves song i had playing on the ipod while rigging up.

there's never wind at sunrise. and my casts are cutting the water like a surgeon. no, it's more like esteban the guitar wizard, since i refuse to use the surgeon analogy because most surgeons are dicks. it's precise but relaxed. it's intense but my heart rate goes down. it's that wonderful feeling of fighting off the urge to hit that ugly, ugly snooze button and hooking into an early morning steelface.

now on to the usual shots of scenery, wildlife, fishagirl, and fishadogs.

awesome site.

explosions and boobs.

the internet continues to reaffirm my faith in humanity. i dare you to click refresh less than 10 times. per hour. per week. until your next birthday.
thanks, saggy.
and you're welcome, world.

t-minus 60-ish days until...

1. i sleep in my waders.
2. bows on mice.
3. pollywogs.
4. not being at work.
5. the river i've been dreaming about for 2 years.

this is the worst blog ever.

i've been busy.

skunked.

you ever have one of those trips where you drive 7 hours to a faithful spot? the weather sets up perfect. you're dodging deer, chukar, and wild turkeys on the road to the pond. the rattlesnakes aren't out yet. and your backpack is full of beef jerky and mountain dew.
plus, there's no wind!
ah, but the fish aren't home?
i suppose i should of stayed in portland and slung doughballs for carp.

i can't stop. sorry.

snot factory.

i'm now 3 for the last 3 on getting hella sick post vegas. hmmmm. i suppose i need to stop getting cirque du soleil hookers and buying "party time" from the flier flippers outside of o'shea's?
i'm convinced that it's just a matter of time before vegas becomes ground zero for the next super bird flu monkey shit virus that wipes out humanity. i'm bringing TB masks and gloves for my next trip.
so, at the advice of the witch doctor i sat next to on the plane home, i bought a mystic neti pot.
it worked just ok*:

* snot is gross

uh huh.