Wicked Dope Straight Outta Gaithersburg

Work had me in Maryland over the weekend. Weird folk up there. I saw a guy in a Cabelas shirt eating a doughnut with a fork and knife. Brothers beware. 

No time to fish. But darned if I didn’t have some top water fluff back home that might have flipped some Chesapeake Bay Striper. 

Here’s the rest of the articulated clan. 

Probably my second favorite number named town

Living in a town with only one, extra lonely stop sign turns your guts crosswise and grates your neck bones funny. Pink paint is not cute; toesies over the line and salt shot is a courtesy. At the county line, Busch Lite thirties are stacked low on a rough, poured floor- no boots, no service. Keep your B&C low, this is meat country; does eat better anyway. Contrails never, if ever, I never. Asphalt not required, tread studded with gravel, mud splashed fenders, one sign will suffice, mileage unknown, read the sun. Pentecostals worship outdoors, the Baptist prefer clapboard. Blue gingham drapes over a female skeleton, fit grey hair bunched up on her head. We don’t swerve for deer, but for bulls. Balls up and send word via the nearest tractor. “From around here?” “No sir, moved during the snows, but my grandmother was raised up in Garland County.” “Them springs are nice.” “Yes sir, God’s country for sure.”

Is it worth it? Absolutely. 

Small stockers, but fished by my lonesome. No chaffed elbows, nor foreign breath whiffed. Silent, but for a kind out-of-town couple destined for pus-filled red legs.

Love,

Spring Bear

Limp-Legged and Gut Shot

Not much to report. I’ve missed several wade fishing and whiskey buying opportunities in Baxter County. Not as terrible as it sounds, I’m saving my nickels for a couple of rods for M and I’s Mexican honeymoon.

So I’ve spent the last few weekends assembling a new bass box. More ridiculous, and much larger than the ‘09 collection.  

Here is the “gig jig.” Neutrally buoyant at 6 inches under, and a bear to tie. I had intended for them to float high with a little sink on the ass end, but dem legs are too heaavvy. So I settled with a sub-surface frog and added some # 6 steel shot in its lacquered guts for a bit of noise. 

I figure it can be fished with short jigs on a sink tip, or on floating line with medium length strips, and I don’t think the gig jig would mind chasing a fat, brown chenille worm in a two fly rig.

Love,

Spring Bear

Well I don’t know but there’s a devil of a big one down in Pap’s old field”

I spent a few work days in Little Rock. My armpits got wet, and my Spanish got better. El Verano is coming. 

Here’s a fitting tie. I’m out of barbells. I imagine it fishes like a beagle pup on bootlaces. Get it? Soo cutesys. 

I forgot to post this. Michelle came for a visit a month ago and took some pictures.

(I’ve never met that moody 13-year-old in the last picture, and I have no idea why he’s wearing my shirt.)

Love, 

Spring Bear

I feel like a jerk-nosed snake for my last post. Too much metal, not enough Jenny Lewis. 

A while back MG came up with some tracks for a FF film. I had the idea too. Ask me, I’ll tell the truth, I swear. 

This tune would make a perfect intro. Grizzled dude cranking a Go Devil up river, fog, rods, chartreuse bucktail, peeling lead eyes, and black lab. All super slow. Then cut to said dude talking about his preference for brunettes from Texas. A Bass film for sure. 

Hand on the bible, if I see this recreated, I’ll cut off your damn leader. 

Love,

Spring Bear

edit - MG put together “playlists” for carp and permit - not necessarily a soundtrack. whoopsie daisies