Fly-Fishing, Through the Eyes of a Dirtbag

I caught a bat on a fly rig once.

Really? I bet the bat was small, we only have small bats here in America. You should ask my friend about the Vampire Bats in Sydney, they are huge. I mean, they aren’t real vampires so they’re not dangerous but they’re still big.

Real vampires? Is this a serious conversation? What do you mean they aren’t real vampires, do you believe in vampires?

This conversation actually happened. What made it all the more entertaining is the fact that one of the individuals in that previous block-quote was wearing a hat that I can only assume is supposed to be a representation of The Chupacabra. If you don’t know what the Chupacabra is, don’t feel bad. The Chupacabra, like vampires, does not exist.

The Chupacabra

Chupacabra and I spent the weekend at Grey Reef where the post flush fishing was spectacular, the wind was biblical, and the breakfast waffles satisfying. While fish cooperated for the most part, when they didn’t, I went amateur on them with the loathed 3 fly rig. The Chupacabra suggested I move over to the domain www.3flyrig.com and make some cool t-shirts that say “You miss 100% of the ass-hooks you don’t set.”

Successful Ass Hook

Despite a few ass hooks there is now one less person that believes in vampires today than there was last week, and that my friends, is the real victory.

An Eater

Face Hook

Goodbye For Now

I was walking around the park this afternoon and stumbled upon two deceased catfish, numerous deceased trout, and a multitude of very alive (and what I assume were) Koi.

Some Trout

Some Living Creatures

Hard to see under the ice but I’m sure they can be caught. I’ll have to remember to return when the time is right.

Mr. J was kind enough to share his photos. I’d say he had a pretty good day.

You’ll have to excuse the photo chopping, sometimes things just have to happen.

Dirtbag + Roughfisher = Unstoppable Force

The Roughfisher and I now hold our destiny in our own hands

So we have this discussion about egg patterns and some different ways people rig the things. Somehow this conversation quickly moved into a doctoral dissertation on why eggs benedict is the best breakfast “ever created”.

Hollandaise sauce is amazing. I mean, I might as well be injecting peanut butter straight into my jugular but you know, it’s just so good.
-Michael Gracie

So I’m thinking at this point that we are going to have a nice little eggs benedict camp breakfast the next morning. I play dumb, not wanting to clue him in that I figured out his little contribution to the weekend. He keeps strict watch over the cooler throughout the day, further heightening my suspicions. We continue on through the day, fishing some great streams and lakes.

We sit down for dinner and enjoy an above average dish of chili cheese dogs. They were good, but left me feeling unfulfilled, the anticipation of eggs benedict the next day consumed my thoughts. To make matters worse we’re sharing what is essentially a one person tent which causes the humidity to approach 117% and turn our shelter into a sweaty torture chamber.

I awake to a beautiful morning, the neck is a little stiff, and my skin is stuck to the sleeping bag but nothing some eggs benedict can’t help. I go outside, brush my teeth, and turn to ask what was for breakfast…

We had fucking hot pockets.