The title of this blog comes from a running joke older than my marriage. A character from our group’s collective imagination, with a backstory and a voice that’s evolved alongside and become interwoven with our own nonfictional collective history on the ROP. Explaining the genesis of the joke won’t make it any less strange, so just know that our guy is an unfrozen Neanderthal Great Lakes tributary fisherman fond of homey platitudes delivered in a broken patois. Our guy fishes for wild Lake Superior steelhead with bait, and he’s our mocking proxy for all the low-holing neoprene diaper-butt hardware boobs that fish gravel and beat up on the non-keepable year classes.

Full disclosure: I truly love fishing worms under bobbers to this day. It’s teleologically fun. That’s how I came to fishing, that’s how I’m teaching my daughter to love fishing. I am a precious dogmatic a-hole, but I’m not totally prejudiced. I’ll take fly fishing over all comers any day, but any fishing is good fishing.

Just nice be out.

This is a blog about time well spent, a record of things that recharge the batteries and bring balance (if not outright meaning) to life, a personal list of experiences that replay themselves on the back of eyelids in the liminal spaces of the day.

Words by me; some pictures by me as well and some pictures by others mentioned within.

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