It’s thundersnowing outside and I’m waiting for bugs. Video vectored from The Limp Cobra.

Advertisements

Wonderbat

The Wonderbat 106-6/7 (the flagship model of Gronkworks Fly Fishing LLC‘s virtually unheard-of Spwitch series) is a … rod rebuilding project? Aftermarket modification? Butt-heinous ugly? A repurposed cheapo Sierra Trading Post 10′ 6/7 weight that some bright-eyed and dauntless future blogger looked at and thought: “You know what would really set this off? A detachable fighting butt that’s long enough to work as a bottom grip.”

Truth in advertising: this happened a long time ago. I busted the end cap off the reel seat, replaced it with one that had a threaded female fitting for the detachable fighting butt, and epoxied it in place over the end of the blank (no photographic documentation of this process, sorry). Unfortunately, the head that would make this hoopty kick was still years away, not even a twinkle in Scientific Anglers’ eye.

But now it’s here, and the Wonder Bat is here, and the fall run is starting, and the 320 Skagit Extreme shows promise after some grass casting, and the Dark One, pervert that he is, is already out of Babylon and finding fish.

“They say he made it himself out of a bigger bat.”
(via wikia.com/simpsons)

silver dollars

ROP running low and clear before my one stand of the fall, and lo and behold MZA is funemployed. Under challenging conditions, Employment Quest 2012 is underway and word on the street is that fish are being hooked: skinny water and down economy.

It occurs to one that a job search is much like fly fishing for steelhead – meat must be kept in water, chins up. Just cause there’s not a tug-tug when you swing through a run doesn’t mean your program is fucked – although it could in truth be fucked, but just not automatically, inherently, out of hand fucked. Whether crafting a cover letter or a streamer, use sticky hooks and nice paper. Be like a zen archer when you cast or hit Send, destroy the separation of you and target, annihilate both expectation and surprise.

I had a job that let me drink (and brew) beer during working hours and paid enough to buy fly lines more or less whenever I needed to, or at least when I remembered to. But, as happens in the course of human events, it became necessary to keep stepping down the run. Take stock, be mindful of what’s important and what’s transitory. I’ve got a typo-free resume and a passable low-water box and no leaks in my waders. Go time.

a farewell to farms

The smell of freshly-spread hog manure on ochre September fields was heavy in the air on the banks of the Big Muddy, but the biggest farmer stood in the bow on what was probably Squatto’s 2012 smallmouth float swan song, and that farmer is blogging before you now.  Continue reading