The Kate – fly and photo by Glista, still the maddest doctor at a vise.
It’s time again for Fun With Buster’s Search Stats, which is nearly as lazy as posting YouTube videos but without the additional effort necessary to type something even marginally related to fly fishing.
Honestly, we were just checking the stats following the most recent western PA bigfoot story, because we inadvertently became a destination for precisely those searches back in 2008 or so, which we found hilarious. It appears that letting the place go dark and then moving to WordPress has eliminated that particular comedy vector, which MAKES US VERY SAD, GOOGLE!
So the search stats are now dominated by the word “fuck,” which, ok, isn’t terribly surprising to anyone who knows us. Sorry Mom. Some of the more entertaining examples include:
fish time fucking
fishing for as to fuck full
fucking is right or wrong
wrong way fucking
fuck after fish work
new fishing fuck american
wwwfuck me buster
OK so you were looking for weird porn and landed here because you’re desperate and will click on anything. We’re only sort of sorry for disappointing you, and not at all for missing an opportunity to get these new readers. We hope you kept trying. Fortune favors the bold, and all that.
aboy stands at river and off with finger fucks wally
Dear Wally: Google responds best when you close with “warmest regards” or “love always.”
big hackles fuck
I’ve said this very thing before tossing the fly in the bluegill box. Those fuckers will eat anything.
fuck you bat signal
I could never understand why the Penguin was such a fearsome villain. I mean, he’s not at all physically imposing, and who’s not going to recognize him and call Commissioner Gordon before he waddles away with the big heavy gold bird statue or whatever? Testify, Oswald.
real fucking recreation area
Someone was very frustrated by all of the fake ones?
fuck me while i pollute the air while it stinks x
I’ve got nothing here, but it’s included for, um, posteriorerity. You’re welcome. Now for the rest:
limitations associated with marginal cotton
While I’m sure there are some, or even many, I can’t imagine needing to Google for them, or being presented with a link to this place and thinking “THAT is just what I need right there!”
light sabre wound stickers
Fly fishers have a thing for stickers. Normally they’re from gear manufacturers, but we’re not here to pass judgement on your particular nerdflavor (looking at you, spey geeks).
spey o rama tumblr
Ok, got it. More Fly Candy photos. We can do that. On it.
If you fish flies and surf the web, you might have noticed a lot of recent focus on protecting our public lands. Buster’s done a bit of mouthing off about it too, and we know it’s easy to let the bastardos get you all down in the chops.
So pick your ass up, get your Muir on, and celebrate the addition of 400 acres to Yosemite’s western boundary.
via Luke Hunt, Ph.D. for American Rivers:
Through this addition to Yosemite National Park, Ackerson Creek – which flows through the property before flowing into the Wild and Scenic South Fork of the Tuolumne River and the greater San Joaquin River – will have its water quality protected from threats for years to come.
Aw hellz yeah!
“The ugly fallout from the American Dream has been coming down on us at a pretty consistent rate since Sitting Bull’s time — and the only real difference now […] is that we seem to be on the verge of ratifying the fallout and forgetting the Dream itself.” – Hunter S. Thompson, Fear and Loathing: On the Campaign Trail ’72
If you’re lucky in 2016, maybe you’re better off than your parents or grandparents. Maybe you got a better education, or are able to own a home. Maybe you’ve got a pension (ha, Google it). Maybe you’re simply able to negotiate a stroll without being harassed, beaten, tazed, or straight up shot dead. And maybe your own kids will be better off than you are. That’s what most parents hope for, anyway, but look at the rising costs and disappearing opportunity for nearly everything, and that hope might feel increasingly desperate.
Those of us lucky enough to be U.S. citizens have a heritage that’s the envy of the world. Millions of acres of wild land and clean water are bequeathed to all of us as a happy accident of birth, or the fortunate benefit of negotiating a long and costly immigration process. And in the absence of property or money or opportunity, we can at least pass this inheritance along to our kids, as long as we’re vigilant and the well isn’t poisoned.
And, you know, if it isn’t stolen by greedheads like the American Lands Council and their pet politicians, who are attempting to force the divestiture of our public land and water to the states, where they can be, or in some cases must be sold off to private interests who can keep your kids’ dirty feet from soiling it ever again.
Screw that. Start here, and here, but don’t stop there. Raise hell. Don’t be forced to tell the kids that you’re sorry, but you just didn’t do enough. It’s easy to type words about heritage and the home of the brave, but that doesn’t amount to a hell of a lot when they’re willing to set the dogs on you.
Buster has some cool pals. You can find Agua Fria Alchemy in the blogroll.
The very possibly alien minds at Bentley’s Mulliner coachbuilding division have produced – no, I’m sorry, painstakingly handcrafted a fly-fishing edition of the Bentayga, which Bentley describes as “the fastest, most powerful, most luxurious SUV in the world,” and the world describes as “a middle finger to the people and their fish, built for obscenely rich asshats who purchase their investments from a coachbuilder because they couldn’t possibly do something as plebeian as shop for a fishing car.”
My word, the excitement. Over at Autoblog, they’ve declared that “This Bentley Bentayga takes fly fishing very seriously”. Hmph. Bully. Indeed. Let’s see what Brandon Turkus has to say.
“Mulliner’s upholstery and trim expertise is on full display – everything in the kit is either covered in saddle leather with white contrast stitching or finished in Burr walnut.”
I don’t know. Is it Corinthian? If it’s not Corinthian leather, then you’re sure to get burrs in your walnuts.
“The four leather-wrapped tubes on the underside of the tonneau cover house the fishing rods, while the master tackle box, refreshment case, and a box for stowing waders and boots sit on the cargo floor.”
At least that’s what you can tell Pater so that he doesn’t discover that you’ve packed it with Peruvian blow for the weekend’s canned snow leopard hunt. Is this really what constitutes luxury? An insanely expensive Subaru Outback with some boxes in the back? WTF is a “master tackle box?”
“Mulliner loaded down the tackle box with tools, cotton, hooks, and feathers to tie flies, and it includes four reel cases milled from solid aluminum.”
A very seriously serious fishing coachbuilder would go on at great length about hook bends and hackle grades until I wandered off to get coffee. I’m fairly sure that “cotton” is thread, but not for the proles. And aluminum reel cases? To protect the Bogdan until Nigel drops it on a rock?
Is that solid Corinthian al you minium?
“The best thing about this kit is the lengths Mulliner went to in order to keep the rear of the vehicle dry and fresh – the floor is waterproof and there’s an electronic dehumidifier to keep things from smelling funky.”
Oh heavens no, not funky, we’ve been splashing in water with fish, we must smell like flowers. Do the windows go down? Can they throw in a towel, or maybe a solid gold box of baking soda?
At Edmunds, they make a very clever “hook luxury buyers” joke, and go on to say…
“For the first time with Bentayga, the SUV features Mulliner “welcome lights” that project the Bentley and Mulliner logos on the ground when the doors are opened. But fussy buyers can also have any personal logo or graphic added as a custom option.”
IT COMES WITH A BAT SIGNAL FOR DOUCHEBAGS!
Robb Report adds…
“With a 6-liter W-12 engine that allows a top speed of 187 mph, Bentley’s luxurious all-wheel-drive fish-finder will help ensure its owners are the first at their favorite spot while landing bragging rights to boot”
Atomic batteries to power! Turbines to speed! Blast off for Douche Planet fishing holiday!
Yeah. Anyway, Bentley is taking fly fishing VERY VERY SERIOUSLY, YOU GUYS!
There was a day when some of us scampered at the rusty, toxic, helmetless edge of the void, turned out there by our parents with just a few instructions, most of which amounted to “shut up and don’t monkey around.” We formed feral bicycle gangs, waded in storm drains, blew up stumps, set things on fire, built tree forts and fell out of them. We were targeted by Mattel and the like with colorful happy diversions, some of which turned out to be highly flammable and/or bad if you swallowed them.
After a few squealers suffered Thingmaker burns and wrecked the fun, the grownups finished their drinks and put out their smokes and decided to look out for us. Let’s see where we are now, shall we?
The Danger: skull piercing, and your brains will squirt out and I’m not cleaning that up.
The Danger: whacking yourself in the face or the crotch. Also sometimes they shattered and shrapnel went everywhere. Big whoop.
The Danger: blunt force trauma, eye injury, gun/sword/lightsaber wound (true, ask any kid).
Result: not BANNED, but it might just be a matter of time and blood loss. Still the integral component of a game of Stick Quiz.
Rattling Around in the Back of a Pickup at Highway Speed with an Iron Rake and Some Loose Firewood
The Danger: occasionally a kid or two would bounce out and you might not find them again. Make some more.
Result: mostly ILLEGALED
The Danger: drowning, skin cancer, hypothermia, fire, dehydration, tetanus, unemployment, bottomless pits, lightning, shark attack, bear attack, tweaker attack, misanthropy, salmonella, choking, chafing, gunfire, stabbing, swamp ass, stank foot, alcohol poisoning, strangulation, blindness, marriage failure, road food, terrible coffee, Lyme disease, West Nile virus, leeches, lampreys, bats, rabies, rabid bats, poison ivy, potty mouth, criminal prosecution, lies, exaggerations, terminal smartassery, low self-esteem, butthurt, blogging, slack, and general sketchiness.
Matt gets his first steelhead. Matt is rather a bit pleased.
Epic photo by Buster’s pal Robin Hill at Brookside Hillbilly
Epic MAT! by Matt
Fishingjones was manning the Troub-Alert when an item came over the cryptozoology wire smelling like booze.
“…alcohol may have been a factor but investigators were awaiting tests.”
Takeaway: if you’re trying to be seen, don’t stand in oncoming traffic in the dark wearing camouflage.
Better yet: if you’re prone to harebrained ideas AND drinking, you might as well just go fishing. You could drown, true, but you probably won’t end up as an item in Boogan News.
p.s. faking Bigfoot is dishonest, and it makes Bigfoot mad, and you’ll wake up with a moose head in your bed.
also: this has been Buster’s totally gratuitous Bigfoot post for 2012.
“I lyke bigge butts.”
Moose River Streamer – Fly & Photo by Glista, mad genius.
“On the lower end, two fair-sized streams drained the interior. One rose from a series of springs that poured forth from hillocks around today’s 20th Street and Fifth Avenue. The Saponickan band living there called it Ishpetenga. It flowed southwest into the Hudson near the mouth of another trout stream. This one had its origins in a deep, fair-sized pond where Worth and Centre streets now cross. It flowed northwesterly, almost in a straight line, and became the course for today’s Canal Street. The pond was known as The Collect. The Dutch name for this trout pond was derived from one of its beaches, which they which they called Kalk Hoek – Chalk Point or Chalk Hook. It was given the name because the early Dutch settlers came here to collect the shells of freshwater mussels, which were ground and added to the mortar used to build their homes. When the English took over management of Manhattan in 1664 they assumed many of the Dutch words already in use for geographic features. Their inelegant pronunciation of Dutch turned the monosyllabic word “Kalk” (or “Chalk”) into the dissylable “Kal-leck”- hence, “Collect.” The pond’s name had nothing to do with collecting water in the area, as some writers have suggested, although it did have two small feeder streams. For decades, in the 1600s and 1700s, it was the source of drinking water for all of lower Manhattan’s residents. The Collect and its associated streams contained brook trout as late as 1740.”
– from Brook Trout by Nick Karas
What you’re not seeing on the teevee machine: much of New York’s Schoharie Valley and the headwaters of the East Branch, smashed into a muddy paste.
Every so often we like to bust out the search stats and see what kind of wacky Google antics are landing you freakies at our site. Recent favorites include “fly brigade shit,” “ridiculously complicated elevator,” and “forced to eat sweaty panties.” We love you guys.
The all-time top 20 since 2007 includes 3 that are all related to a goofy story that we linked to in our very first week of operation, about some boogan who spotted Bigfoot somewhere in Western Pennsylvania. Frankly, we just wanted some content up there when we went live, and hell, why not Bigfoot, right? Sprint right out of the gate!
So our search stats have pretty much always included “bigfoot sightings,” “bigfoot sightings in PA,” and “western PA bigfoot.” It’s something we’ve always enjoyed, looked forward to, hell even taken pride in. But lately, sadly, the frequency has fallen off a bit. Not entirely, but just enough to make us melancholy, which is bad news when we’re out of everything but gin, you know?
So this here post is a bit of an experiment to see if we can get those numbers back up. Hell maybe we’ll get a horde of cryptozoology geeks with this awesome totally real no really photo of the Western Pennsylvania Bigfoot RIDING THE GODDAM LOCH NESS MONSTER AND FLIPPIN YOU OFF!
HOLY CRAP GOOGLE! IT’S GODDAM PENNSYLVANIA BIGFOOT FISHING IN SOME GUY’S POND! IN PA!