Category Archives: Nothing to do with Fishing

I’m not sure I have to rattle anything

Truer words were never spoken Dear Older Bro,

You’ve been quiet of late which means you’ve found the joke gift that will enrage me – while you scuttle behind the Christmas tree and Ma’s protective skirts – making funny faces over her shoulder, knowing I can’t take a swing at you ‘cause Ma would be disappointed and knock us both senseless.

I’ve got a couple of brain cells left – perhaps more’n you – and have already guessed what deviltry you’re up to ….

In your glee at finding the gift that settles scores for the Simm’s floatation vest I gave you last year … the one whose bladder was filled with QuikDri concrete powder – that you managed to wriggle free from before your oxygen ran out … which I can’t believe you’re still holding against me, as any Captain worth his salt goes down with his ship …

… might I remind you that this gift is only effective if I see it – not wear it. Don’t buy the extra-large in Black for me to wear – rather the medium in Pink is more appropriate. In this manner Sweetpea will immediately claim “it’s the height of fashion pajamas” and will parade herself around with message displayed prominently until it’s nearly threadbare.

As Ma might read this, which is likely as the “hit counter” now stands at “two” – I’ll save all them sincere emotions for when Ma ain’t looking…

Your vengeful adoring Younger Brother.

Tags: QuikDri cement, demotivators.com, Simm’s floatation vest, Christmas

Perhaps we can covet an invasive enroute to exploiting it

rasberrycraz Screw the gnashing of teeth, mock concern, and “woe is me” populist reaction, we’re being assaulted by air, land, and sea – and it’s about time we exploited the little SOB’s …

… and it could be my new-found bravado comes from the quarter-pound of the perfectly colored dubbing dyed this weekend using leftover cranberry sauce and rust Tintex. I call it “Upper Sacramento Pink” – which I may rethink in light of this burgeoning commercial opportunity.

Think “Rasberry Pink” – the new hotness …

It’s the latest import into the South compliments of container ships in the Gulf of Mexico. The “Rasberry Ant” which goes through stinging Fire Ants akin to crap through a goose, eats bees, and anything else that it doesn’t like.

“This is a species that we do not know much about. Presumably the ant came from the Caribbean through the Port of Houston,” Cook said. “We know the ant is in the Paratrechina genus and is capable of growing a population of billions and they need to eat. They especially like other bugs, like fire ants and honey bees.”

We’ve never shirked from the addition of more Latin in our cocktail conversations, and you can be sure we’ll be singing Mr. Rasberry’s praises once we land a couple dozen fish.

It’s about time we got a robust invasive that offered to improve the fishing rather than coat rocks with slime, mucous, or snail tracks.

The Port Houston McGinty

Meet the “Port Houston McGinty”

Washing waders may be the height of manliness for some, but I’d rather giggle while watching hordes of voracious trout food spill over the creek banks – sending the available fish into a bloody feeding frenzy…

Tags: Rasberry ant, invasive terrestrials, trout food, fire ants, ant pattern,

Things that dispense noisily that Bears won’t eat

It’s one of many angling axioms, how the outdoors-fishing ritual guarantees some unnatural food tucked away in a vest, or cooler, and daylighted with great trepidation knowing the catcalls and scorn that will greet luxury items from those roughing it.

A couple days worth of whiskers and yesterday’s underwear is about as close to Jim Bridger and Dan’l Boone as they’re willing to go, and reverence for the wilderness experience won’t slow them while they help themselves to your Big City larder and that bottle of fine brandy.

It ain't food unless it goes BLORT

Hardened urbanites prefer speed over flavor, evidenced by the growth of drive thru eateries. It may be time to fuse technology and  outdoor cuisine and give the traditional campfire fare a similar expedient makeover.

The threat of bears and lack of refrigeration eliminates “real” food from our repertoire, but Modern Science has provided us with Freeze Dried, desiccated powders we can recombine with creek water, and aerosol-extrusion whose tasty flatulence can now change camp life forever…

I call it “Blort” cuisine. Things that dispense noisily that bears won’t eat.

I’ve always found the Batter Blaster indispensable on my expeditions – and have christened it “Culinary Duct Tape.”

Any lip from “Mr. Roughing It” on the far side of the campfire and you give him a three second burst … flat tire? The Batter Blaster will seal the puncture and inflate the tire in seconds.

Shat onto a hopper hook, it makes a resilient foam body that can be shaped with a pocket knife into a dizzying assortment of terrestrials.

It’s chum for coarse fish, “silly string” for the kids, and any resemblance to actual pancakes is accidental.

Tags: outdoor culinary adventure, don’t try this at home, duct tape, roughing it,

Like Ed Zern said, “To hell with fishing …”

Finding $87,000 while wandering about the riverbank fishing caused a stir a couple of months ago. In the US that kind of money wears felt soles – and heisting the equivalent in tackle would only take a couple of rolls of duct tape and a couple of unwary, yet well appointed,  fly fishermen …

… but if you want priceless, you’ll roll your eyes over the latest find, a couple cases of Scotch Whiskey left under one of the huts abandoned by Ernest Shackleton, on one of his ill fated Antarctic expeditions.

Two cases of Shackleton's Private Reserve

Polar explorers of that era relied on their alcohol of choice to help them and their crews through the long Antarctic nights and insomnia-inducing days. And Shackleton knew a thing or two about being well prepared for an adventure. On a later trip to the continent he kept all 28 members of his crew alive during 15 harrowing months after their ship got marooned in and then slowly devoured by ice. So it’s no surprise that he brought 25 crates of Scotch with him when he set off on an expedition to the South Pole in 1907.

Left undiscovered in the ice for over 100 years – found in 2006 by curators, who are about to drill the crates loose from their icy tomb.

While Christie’s, Sotheby’s, or EBay come to mind – you’ll have to drink it all in Antartica:

An international treaty dictates that the crates, and any intact bottles that are inside, remain in Antarctica unless they need to be taken off the continent for conservation reasons.

… which really shouldn’t be much problem, considering. Just shake the ice cubes out of your mustache if you need to freshen that glass a wee bit.

Tags: Ernest Shackleton, Scotch Whisky, ebay, scotch on the rocks, literally