I am a lazy Bastard

4 05 2009

I have officially become to lazy to cut and paste.  I will officially not post on here anymore but will be posting on bentrodmedia.wordpress.com.  See you’ll on the other side.

Thanks for the laughs,

Nymph-o

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Missouri, The Show Me (Your Fins) State (Part 1)

29 04 2009

When first approached by our new found friend Kyle Kossovich, of Long Boat Outfitters, to make the trek to Missouri to fish and film I was more then a little skeptical.  I mean I know the N. Fork of the White River in Missouri is just a hop, skip, and a jump to Arkansas where the trout fishing is sicky sicky narr narr (phrase borrowed from James Kelly, the absolutely sickest dude I know, and I am not even really that comfortable saying I know him), but Missouri? Yeah I thought I was being sold a bill of goods, and that swamp land in New Jersey never quite worked out as promised.  But in true Bent Rod style we loaded up the truck and the boat and set out on a cross country voyage that I nay say would leave me a changed man.  Not really changed so much as in desperate need of a shower, shave, and shit but we’ll get to that later.

Day 1

The trip started as most do with the participants feeling each other out as this was my first time road trippin’ it with Ryan and Chris (Ryan’s Fish Slayin’ Gnome).   I did my requisite pooping in funny places bit that won rave reviews from the audience and we all swapped stories, flatulence, and other vile habits with one another till my car was fully soiled with the stench of debauchery.

Chris had drawn the short end of the stick and was stuck in the backseat amongst the gear.  Chris was not a brave trooper nor did he have a stiff upper-lip.  He bitched and moaned for the entire twelve and a half hour car ride.  These complaints went largely ignored from Ryan and myself as Chris is only 4′ 11″ on a good day and as long as you keep your crotch away from his very short wingspan he is generally harmless.

After 9 hours of driving across Tennessee, Kentucky, and Illinois we crossed into Missouri thinking that the Tom Tom was wrong about our remaining time in the car.  I mean how could it take 3 hours to drive 120 miles.  Well friends the crap ass gravel road we were on for the last hour was the reason why.  I have no idea why Tom Tom (stupid bastard) took us down that road as there was a perfectly good paved one that would have  gotten us their just as well or why I continue to blindly follow the Tom Tom like he is a TV Evangelist and I am down to my last nickel. I think it has something to do with me setting the voice as an English guy, it sounds so authoritative. I call him Mr. Belvedere  sometimes and pretend he’s my butler.  This gravel road would be the demise of my trailer bearing, the brave soul he was.

I am not a mechanic, I have never been a mechanic, nor do I have any desire to be a mechanic.  I am much like a woman when it comes to my trailer as I know it is supposed to roll down the road and that is about it.  This will no longer be the case because I have seen with my own eyes the horror that is a busted wheel bearing.  The bearing buddy had been lost in one of the numerous ruts, potholes, or ditches we encountered in our last hour.  When the bearing buddy said adios so did the grease.  With no lubricant, much like a first timer on prom night, the bearing completely shit the bed.  We were able to remove most pieces of the bearing from the axle with sheer grit and force. There was however one ring that refused to budge no matter how many times Chris and I tugged, twisted, and cussed it.  Luckily for us Kyle’s number two guide Bob was there and he proved the point that old Midwestern hippies rock beyond any shadow of a doubt.   Bob, who immediately perked up when we broke out the whiskey in frustration, knew a farmer with a cutting torch and assured me he would take care of the trailer and have it ready to go for day two of the float.  Bless you Bob and your old testicles.

This minor speed bump meant we needed to requisition a canoe which was not a problem as apparently that part of Missouri has an unhealthy obsession with that  filthy form of conveyance.  We all went to sleep knowing the next day would mean boats, fish, and some more speed-bumps along the way, this is a fishing trip after all.

Day 2

The second day of a fishing trip is usually when everyone’s true colors come out and  the niceties of introductions and the sort are done away with.    This was to be the case this trip too because no sooner then we had gotten the boats unloaded at the put in,  Ryan realized Murphy had not grabbed his rods at the house.  We all hurled obscenities at the both of them for costing us the hour it would take Ryan to go back to the house and get them but as it is I always say…and there was fishable water right in front of us.  The first day and a half of the trip would involve smallmouth bass, goggle eyed bass, and numerous other species in the chub and shitfish genus.

Murphy and a nice bronzeback

Murphy and a nice bronzeback

I am a trout guy down to my samon trucha underwear, but when in Rome…. fish warm water.  We flung it around until the guys got back.  With all rods, reels, and ladies undergarments accounted for we set off in two traditional Ozark Long Boats and one canoe that I would slowly grow to despise over the next two days.  I mean really that shit is for dudes in the 1800’s, and that’s only because nothing better had been invented yet.

What I Call One Mean Ozark Flotilla

What I Call One Mean Ozark Flotilla

We worked our way down river popping some nice bass and other various species along the way.  The real treat of this float is that the upper sections of the river lie in the Mark Twain National Forest and therefore gravel bar camping and multi-day floats are the preferred methods to get the whole wang dang doodle experience.

We got into camp around 4:00.  We had only been on the river for three or four hours but it already seemed like we had checked into the Hotel Wilderness. The gravel bar we camped on reminded me of something you would see on the Flathead or the Smith up in Montana but definately not the midwest.  Just goes to show you when you make assumptions you make an ass out of you and me.

CAMP 1: The site where Murph lost his virginty. Ryan promised he would be gentle...based on the screaming I think he lied

CAMP 1: The site where Murph lost his virginty. Ryan promised he would be gentle...based on the screaming I think he lied

Ater we had set up all the proper accoutriments (which Chris did not help with…lazy son of a bitch),  we had a great camp cooked meal and settled  into that great campfire game of drinkin’ whiskey and musing on the ways of women, money, and trout.

Cookin Camp Style Sucka

Cookin Camp Style Sucka

This is the first time in a while I have gotten to sip at the cup we call being a dude, but I quickly remebered. This was the last thing I remembered however as I was  sited walking into the river trying to find my tent.  I love Makers Mark, luuuuuve it.

The next morning I was rudely awaken by what sounded like wookie mating calls.  After grabbing for my taser I realized it was only the sounds of Ryan, Chris, and Murphy proving that three cases of sleep apnea are really worse than just one.  I stumbled around in my haze for as few minutes and suddenly smiled because trout were on the menu for the rest of the trip and in the ever so eloquent words of Ice Cube, “today’s gonna be a good day”.

I’ll get into that next time as my brain hurts now and I must rest it.

Nymph-o





Feast or Famine

15 04 2009

It has been a busy week of fishing here in Bent Rod World where every fish leaves completely satisfied with the encounter.  The Caddis hatch is on in E. Tennessee and things are getting silly.  This isn’t just any Caddis hatch but the big daddy Black Caddis hatch on the Watauga River. This is the time of year that epic days are made and the past few have not disappointed.  

Sunday

Ryan and I met up with both boats, wives, friends, and my dog, Traveler, in tow.  The expectations were high as the day was bluebird and the bugs were out in full force.  We saw huge numbers of Black Caddis in a size 12, early Sulfurs in a size 14, BWO’s, and midges.  The trout on the other hand must have been wrecked from a late night kegger because the first 6 hours were slow…real slow.  

The dog and I learning a lesson in futility.

The dog and I learning a lesson in futility.

Angela, Ryan’s wife, once again proved that she is the Shera (don’t act like you don’t know who Shera is,  He-Man’s rockin’ hot mistress of the cartoon world…hello?) of piscatorial pursuits.   I saw another emasculation developing and was none too happy about it.  

Angela, surveying her vast fishy kingdom which she rules with an iron fist.

Angela, surveying her vast fishy kingdom which she rules with an iron fist.

We rolled into the “ledges” section feeling as if somebody had run over the dog. I am not a man that easily gives up however (my academic, social, and business life being the exceptions). I gritted my teeth, cursed the gods, re-rigged the rod with a soft hackle pheasant tail and let out a barbaric yop, “Not again, no not again Lord. I am a man, I am a man!” Well I guess the big guy was smiling down on this godless heathen on a beautiful Easter Sunday because the trout started eating in my favorite manner…recklessly.  

 

My wife Lindsey giving Leroy, the brown trout, a good old fashioned bum rubbing.

My wife Lindsey giving Leroy, the brown trout, a good old fashioned bum rubbing.

We all proceeded to catch them hand over fist till there were big shit eating grins all around (except for my friend Greg who must have missed 30 strikes and long distance handshaked at least that many fish in half an hour…stupid bastard. The last six hours were forgotten as if they happened a million years ago.  

Yours truly with colored up bow who was stupid enough to fall victim to a guy like me.

Yours truly with colored up bow who was stupid enough to fall victim to a guy like me.

It always amazes me how a turn in the action can erase the majority of the day’s frustrations and bring me down from the proverbial ledge.  Everyone left that day tired but fulfilled…that is till  Tuesday.

 

 

 

Tuesday

With the Caddis hitting, we decided it was just too good to stay away. Murphy made the trek down from the wilderness that is West Virginia and it was on again. We put in around 11:00am with one thing in mind… an epic day.  Once again we were not disappointed. The first hole coughed up 5 or 6 fish in fifteen minutes.  At this point we realized all we could do was put on our big boy pants and hold on.

Ryan striking a pose with Leroy.  Artistic ain't it?

Ryan striking a pose with Leroy. Artistic ain't it?

 It seemed like every trout in the river was looking up and more than willing to fling themselves at our dry flies in kamikaze fashion.  At some point one of us commented that we must have boated 50 fish between us. That was only 3/4 of the way through the float, and the last quarter of the float might have been the most fruitful (I have been trying to work the word fruitful into my everyday vocabulary as I believe it has nice ring to it. Say it with me…Fruitful…see).  The scariest part about this whole day was that it was in the 50s and rainy — I can’t even imagine what it would have been like if the sun had come out for more than fifteen minutes. Mind blowing to say the least.  

 

Murphy and Ryan are back on the river today (lucky bastards), as I am around the house finishing up finals, catching up on my blogging, and generally itching junky style to get back on the river as soon as possible. Next week the crew is heading to the North Fork of the White River, in the Show Me State of Missouri. We are going to do some filming, chase some tail (trout  and bass to be specific), and eat some corn (I guess that’s what you do in Missouri?).  All I have to say is that I am going to do my best to see if there is any truth behind these farmer’s daughter jokes I have been hearing (Wifey, I am only joking, I could never be attracted to a luscious, milky, corn-raised farm girl..seriously never…I love you, Honey).





A New Partnership and an Old Ass Kicking

8 04 2009

So everybody, your old friend nymph-o (Dave) has been asked to join forces with the boys over at Bent Rod Media to be the blogger du jour (like soup of the day for you uncultured savages in intranet land), mystery pooper, and all around malcontent. Well slap my ass and call me Sally, I accepted… let the games begin. For those of you who don’t know, Bent Rod is a film company started by some ‘ol boys from the hills to capture on film all the shits and giggles that go along with chasing our wet friends with fur and feather. I will now be simultaneously posting on my troutsniffer site as well as Bent Rod Media’s blog. I am simultaneously posting because I am lazy and there is only so much inspiration in the well (most was spent figuring out how to attach a lighter to a springy telephone cord and then attach it to the ceiling so I would never have to leave my recliner in college…genius).  Look for big things from small people in the near future, folks, as the crew takes out across the land A-Team van-style to film some fish at a location near you.

So in saying that I will now move on to a day a week ago that involved Ryan, his new boat, and a truly emasculating day on the river at the hands of his lovely wife, Angela. Due to recent Luke Skywalker like life saber eye surgery, Ryan found himself with a brand new boat and doctors orders to sit in the house and heal.  After a few weeks of clawing the walls Ryan was ready to roll, LSD like visual effects or not. I was more then happy to oblige and met Ryan and Angela at the Blevins put in on the Watauga.

The New Sled

The New Sled

 

Let me first say that I always enjoy fishing with women because any chick who will go out with her husband on a miserable cold windy day like the one in question is all right by me. I quickly learned that Ryan had taught his wife well as she stuck a nice 18″ off the bat and then another butter belly to boot.

Here Piggy Piggy

Here Piggy Piggy

 

Angela Sealing the Deal on Revoking My Man Card

Angela Sealing the Deal on Revoking My Man Card

I on the other hand flailed as I am prone to do time to time and managed one decent rainbow down in the caddis riffle. For those of you keeping score that is Angela 2, and me 1. If you can’t do the math this score equals me crying in the fetal position as I continuously pummel my man junk for failing me yet again. I am not competitive by nature and I am not an idiot that thinks that there aren’t a number of women that will out fish me on any given day (keep your panties on ladies), but I admit this one hurt, hurt bad.  At the end of the day I complemented Angela on her skills as a fisherwoman and crawled back into my car in well deserved shame.  So to you Angela well done, I will be collecting my testicles off your mantle on our next day on the river together ( I am sitting down while I pee until I redeem myself).  To the rest of you snickering bastards, laugh while you can because you just might get invited to fish with Angela one day and then the jokes on you bitches.

 

Nice Bow That Fell Victim to Ryan's Red Ass and Me Horning In on the Grip and Grin (I netted it damn it)

Nice Bow That Fell Victim to Ryan's Red Ass and Me Horning In on the Grip and Grin (I netted it damn it)

 

 

 

Snootchy Boochies,

Nymph-o





Nicaragua Dirty South Style

1 04 2009

My buddy Ryan, from Bent Rod Media, recently went down to Nicaragua to check out if the Sandanistas are really as cute and cuddly as everyone says.  This is the video that resulted.

Make sure you go to hook.tv.com to vote for Bent Rod in the Reels for Reels Contest on the forum.  Ryan needs the votes to gauge his worth as a man.





Sticking Pigs On the Reservation Pictorial

27 03 2009

These are the pictures I finally tracked down from that trip to Cherokee a month ago.  The other guy is Nate, another guide from the shop.

 

One of the genetically mutated rainbow trout that has become part of the stocking fare at Cherokee

One of the genetically mutated rainbow trout that has become part of the stocking fare at Cherokee

 

Another view of that "Tracer" Trout

Another view of that "Tracer" Trout

 

Nate with an 8-9 lb. (if it's an ounce) Bow

Nate with an 8-9 lb. (if it's an ounce) Bow

 

Yours truly (just to prove the sun shines every dog's ass one day) with a battle scarred slab of a Bow and huge shit eatin' grin

Yours truly (just to prove the sun shines on every dog's ass one day) with a battle scarred slab of a Bow and a huge shit eatin' grin

 

Another one of me just you can't get arrested for being awesome

Another one of me because you can't get arrested for being awesome.

2 Guides…Six Hours….20 Landed….18 over 18″….Thank You Native Americans…..Thank You





The Shortest Watauga Report Ever

12 03 2009

 

My Apologies To Red Stripe

 

HOORAY TENNESSEE

HOORAY TENNESSEE

 

 

 

HOORAY TROUT

HOORAY TROUT

 

HOORAY ANOTHER TROUT

HOORAY ANOTHER TROUT

HOORAY FAT TIRE IS IN THE SOUTH

HOORAY FAT TIRE IS IN THE SOUTH

 

HOORAY NORTH CAROLINA

HOORAY NORTH CAROLINA