Finally, after chasing the USPS employee for three days, I was able to get my hands on the new Allen Myth series 10′ 3 wt, that I ordered last week.

I was hoping to get it on Saturday, and go chase some panfish in Prospect Park, but now it looks like it will get its initial run on a river next weekend.

Build quality looks great, nice green blank with gold alignment dots, single foot guides, dual foot stripper guide,  and a great looking “carbon” reel seat and dual ring locking mechanism.  Oh, did I mention this thing is LIGHT!

Can’t wait to get out and give it a swing!  More to come after I actually get to use it!

So, after working for 12 days in a row, I find myself in a major conundrum.  Ya see, I really, really want to fish this weekend.  I need the break from the city, the rush, the endless run of people.  I don’t care where, I don’t care if it is nymphing, dries, wets, swinging spey flies, whatever.

Hell, I am ALMOST am willing to go throw bait….almost. (Maybe in the Salt…)

The problem is, it is my 16th wedding anniversary.  Now, I know-I should stay home, chill with the wife, watch movies, whatever.  But, it is the 16th….what do you do for that?  Paper?  Wood?  Steel?  Graphite?  Cork?  Feathers?  Dubbing?  Monofilament?  Flouro?

Shit.  I know what I am doing this weekend.

Luckily, I already have the wife’s blessing.  One day for me, one for her.  I’m good with that.

 

It happens, every year at some point in time, I get The Need.  For me, it is just a need to get away.  Sometimes, I can hold back the urge with weekend trips out of the city.  This year, trips out have been fewer and further between.  I can feel the need to get away growing stronger.  Like bugs under my skin.  Like an itch that you can’t quite reach.  Like a junkie.  Yes, like a junkie.  I need the trees, the dirt, the water.  I need the noises of nature, not man.  I need to sit and contemplate, if just for a minute, how small I am as a human compared to the planet that I live on.  I Need it.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

And no, this has nothing to do with the fact that they are filming outside of my apartment all night.

Again.

 

With the recent death of a brother in arms, my thoughts during idle times have been turned far backward, remembering the times of my youth spent doing things most parents would not approve of, and even a few that my parents never knew about.  Music always seemed to play a huge role in what we were doing, whether it was punk, metal, rock, or even country, we seemed to push it and make it fit the actions on hand.  Night of bouncing golf balls down Hillside Ave., listening to my overplayed tape of Black Sabbath, or shooting at road signs in the middle of the night out in Sams Valley, listening to Waylon and Hank.  Sometimes just driving through the outskirts of Medford, Or., in my 1976 Renault LeCar at top speed, doing amazingly stupid shit.  Sometimes I wonder why I made it through.   The only reason I can see right now is that I learned more from my losses than what I could have ever learned if there were no consequences.  When I was growing up, I never had a brother.  As the only boy with two older sisters, I was always in search of something, and it took me a long time to realize what it was.  I found parts and pieces in people that entered my life, but there were three that made the most impact, regardless of their flaws.

 

Stacy, the most recent, made me think of the soft spots, the emotions, the shit you DO NOT share with “friends”.  The stuff that makes you real.  Human.  Brothers. When your parent”s” ask about them, there is an impact there.  not often found. Closer than family.  There is so much more there,  but the tears don’t translate through the keyboard. My hands are claws.  I’m still not ready. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Eric Huntington.

 

Christ…where do I start…that guy was more of a son to my mother than I was.  :)  he had the personality and charisma to disarm anyone, regardless of how bad his feet smelled after going down to San Fran, and taking the Grey Dog back.  My mom always loved him.  He would show up at my door every so often with an Army green duffel bag, blue hair, and that gawddamned smile…..having skated up from the ‘Hound station a few blocks away.  My friends that were allowed to sleep on the couch were few and far between. We lost him to an auto accident.  Far too soon.  Darren and Petey were never that close…Maybe that was me, not letting them in as close as others.  Growing up in a town where you are a minority (skateboarders) will do that to you.  I know most people cannot relate to this, but Southern Oregon in the 80′s was NOT the place to be if you were into skateboarding.  Eric taught me to “let it go” let things roll, you will find your way to get back at them.  Like when they come into the restaurant you work at for their midday meal. (sorry Sus! You don’t want to know!)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Bren-Gawddamn bro, you always seemed like a mess to me.  Why the hell wasn’t I carrying a camera?

It took me quite awhile to realize that you were on the right track.  Living your life the way you wanted to live it.  No regrets.  You wanted to create?  You did.  painting, blowing glass, sculpting,  what have you.I think your mom just gave you the room to create.

You always seemed off to me.   Now, I think it was really just me that wasn’t paying attention.

 

Eric B.-Thanks, man.  The work you have done through this has been incredible.  Thank you for sending my wishes and sharing our support with Peggy.  My heart hurts through this.  I haven’t been able to write anything since I learned of this tragedy.  I am lifted by some news, and brought back down by other news, but I really hope that all of us can get on the same page and be able to celebrate the man we all shared in our lives.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I didn’t intentionally leave anyone out of this.  It was a stream of thought type of thing.  Anyone that ever skated with me, you had an impact.  Yes, even you, _________( insert name here)

 

 

 

Fuck.

Stacy, I miss you.

I don’t really know what to say yet. Someday, maybe, I’ll have the words to express my anger and frustration at this situation. But until then, know that I will miss you, and that you were and always will be loved. You know I would have done anything I could to help you. I will miss you, my brother.
Hopefully you have found your peace.

As if the south didn’t have it bad enough with the flooding of Ol’ Miss,

Mississippi aims at Delta homes, crops, casinos – Weather – msnbc.com.

 

 

 

Now they have to deal with these assholes, too.

http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/42901017/ns/technology_and_science-science/

 

 

I know she wants something….

 

Starting a new relationship is a difficult thing.  You arrive, full of confidence and brazen in your approach to the situation, thinking sub-consciously that the self assuredness you have had in other relationships will carry over to this new one.  The first date never goes as planned, the awkward, initial exchanges seem forced, frustration sets in, as the reactions you are used to are mysteriously M.I.A. Even though you have done it a thousand times before, you know you are doing everything right, but there is one small piece that is missing.  With other targets of your desire, this only took moments to figure out, as you pursued them for their sheer beauty, or for the hidden danger of their depths,  but this one seems to elude all of your advances.  By the end of the date, even the small tokens of appreciation shown by your new mate seem to be magnificent trophies.  Your expectations have gotten so low, that an attempt at acceptance of your offering is enough to give you hope, only to have that crushed as your gift goes by without a second glance.  You wait with baited breath for that slight tug, that short glance, the small sign that you are doing all the right things.  It is a prize when you get what equates to a smile,   though you know she has much bigger things hidden deep down…….

Farmington River, I’ll figure you out one day, this is definitely not a “one and done” relationship.

 

With more rain throughout today, and more scheduled for Wednesday and Thursday, it looks like the rivers will be blown out through the end of the month.  This has to be what it feels like to be a junkie.

 

With tomorrow being my 39th birthday, I am coming to the realization that there are quite a few things that I want to do before I leave this life.  Not the least of which is to return to the river I grew up near, and fish it during the “1/2 pounder” run.  Maybe sometime before I turn 40.

Maybe.