get hyped, remain hyped

A German delivery case-worth of homemade ale is now bottled (“but what are you going to drink, huh huh”) and my wife and daughter have a handsome stock of nothing but the most affordable food to microwave in my absence: almost ready for Stand #3.

As documented elsewhere, streets is tough. Last ROP trip of the fall – it is eye of the tiger time. Get hyped, remain hyped.


in between times








Rebuilding the squadron before Stand #3, next week. Preparing to take it on the chin, to feed the woodpiles and trees, to stay up late being responsible and wake up early to jack rigs like some kind of zombie punter Roderick Haig-Brown with breathables oozing ale yeast-and-burrito farts. Continue reading

fighter command to punter patrol, over

Second stand of the fall run: staying behind.

The era of wifi has made the role of Fighter Command obsolete, as Punter Patrol can now smear batter grease and Spotted Cow over the NOAA and USGS feeds on their mobile devices of an evening in the ROP watershed. No need to call home. These are different times.

Left to imagine the Dark One, Professor Cheeseburger, and Slint riding their ponies single file to hide their numbers, slopping down hills of red mud, gentlemanly low-holing one another in the fabled, historied pools of our river: Vin Diesel, Washington Generals, Nelson’s Glory Hole, Gay Lamprey.

I believe I will brew some beer.

open letter

Congratulations, fellow trout-angling blogger, for blogging  about an 8″ brookie that ate a Panther Martin for you in a Wisco spring creek; I join the entire internet in saluting these twin accomplishments.

I further enjoyed reading about your exploits on the upper reaches of the ROP with a spinning rod, and found myself increasingly fascinated by each successive hero pose of small resident fish being lipped for what I’m sure was a brief and unharmful time out of the water before a gentle, post-treble hooking and -Zebco horking resuscitation and release.

As a special request, please post more photos of dudes with fly rod cork clamped in bared teeth while hoisting little largemouths. The juxtaposition of  machismo and a small specimen of a notably gullible warmwater fish is a badly-needed infusion of commentary on our sport.

Unless that wasn’t intended to be ironic.

In response to the question posited by your post on using spinning vs. fly tackle, I would simply encourage you to keep living the dream.


on Wisconsin

One finds that wade-fishing for the trouts in two of three states in the Driftless lacks a certain squalid je ne sais quoi.

I’ve seen gutted does bungeed to the hoods of old sedans parked in front of the one bar in town on snowy midgeless northeast Iowa November Sundays, and I’ve seen the creepy, last-human-being-in-the-world sadness of abandoned farms along empty spring creeks in Allamakee county on endless solstice evenings, and also the bad manners of grown men packed shoulder to shoulder in 10 yards of river bank trying to floss the same three sorry stocked alien fish at the mouths of North Shore spates in the Minnesota Arrowhead. But for my money nothing can touch ‘sconnie, and here’s what I think it comes down to:

Wisconsin never, ever forgot that it used to be frontier.
Continue reading

archived report: October 14, 2006





Fresh it ain’t, but flows this week on the ROP are a lot like they were this week in history. Seemed like a good time to go back and review what we’ve learned, and reflect on the importance of keeping records.

[in keeping with this blog’s rigorous editorial standards, pool/run names and identifying landmarks have been redacted]

Continue reading