Soon Writers On The Fly embarks on a whistle stop tour of the Northwest. If you are anywhere near one of these idyllic Cascadian bergs in early November step right up and bend an ear. Come for the words stay for the lies.
Buster has some cool pals. You can find Agua Fria Alchemy in the blogroll.
Buster goes Un-American. Or Semi-American. Or…Whatever.
Born into a posh, genteel life in the Irish countryside, TheUglyMerican decided at an early age that there was more to life than harassing peasants and yelling at the help. After the fiasco in Kedai Mulong, the Malaysian government’s subsequent banning of all things Irish, and the refusal by the Irish to let him back in the country, he settled in Alaska where he took up the distinctly American pastime of harassing fish and wildlife.
He might be a bit reclusive due to his habit of hassling marine mammals during the summer, but deer, elk, goose and coho bullying season is just around the corner and I’m sure he’ll have a few things to say about that.
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!
Because every now and then, it does a Fisha good to remember this “hobby”was once about more than recreation.
Since our last frolic, I’ve managed to relocate from that malarial swamp of Florida to the PNW. Get ready for new, dumb shennanigans out west, including me not catching steelhead, asshooked whiteys, misguided forays and other fun.
It’s gonna be a good time.
Big props for laughs to Montana Governor Brian Schweitzer today. Like in many other states, Montana’s tea-drunk conservo-muppets have been flailing around introducing tough-guy bills like SB-112 – “An Act Providing that a Hand-Thrown Spear Must be Considered a Lawful Means of Hunting.” AW YEAH OOGA BOOGA!
This morning on the radio Governor Schweitzer said that he’ll use an “amendatory veto” on it, which will send it back to the Montana State Houses with the provision that spear hunting must only be performed while wearing a small blaze orange loincloth (with maximum size requirements, you know, for the ladies), and nothing else. The Governor seemed anxious to put this matter behind him so that he could move on to another of their stack of Frodo-fantasy bills about seceding from the United States or something. Anyway, KILLIN STUFF CONAN-STYLE IN MONTANA!
Received from Buster’s friend Alex upon ascending Oregon’s Matterhorn and being showered with rocks by a goat:
“DO NOT BUY YOUR GOAT STUFF FROM THIS GOAT – HE IS A TOTAL DICK!“
Since it’s some sort of unofficial last hurrah for summer’s mad knees-bent running about behavior, and also because part of the joy of this weird pursuit is in the characters you meet.
“We had just been invited to join an all day golf scramble and drinking bash hosted by a whole medly of fraternal lodge organizations. Elks, Moose, and Eagles strolled about the first tee. Most of the people were meeting for the first time; our identities seemed secure, but since you can’t be too careful we traded our fishing hats for the fezzes of three staggering-drunk Shriners from Anaconda, then filled out our name cards as Methyl, Ethyl, and Nitrate Blitz.
Not all of the Blitz Brothers were strangers to a golf course. One of them had even played in college. Ethyl had the distance, Methyl the hot irons, and Nitrate, to his bemused delight, found that he could putt. Just like lining up the eight ball for a bank shot, he said. The Brothers for as long as they could maintain their momentum atop the bell curve of enhanced perception were like besotted Jedi knights: the force was with them. The tournament was a scramble, a format ideally suited to their condition.
On the holes that ran with the wind the Brothers were absolutely splendid. They birdied the first and third, then Nitrate drained a thirty-foot putt for eagle from the fringe on the par five sixth. First prize was two hundred dollars, and the Blitz Brothers had already decided to spend it all in one place – like maybe Idaho. Then, on the eighth, Methyl was driving the cart in the rough searching for a hooked ball and lighting a cigar when he should have been watching where he was going. All three brothers hiked the tall weeds to the car, then stopped at a drug store, bought a postcard, drew a map to the cart and signed it with a sketch of a scuba diver, then continued fishing toward the Big Hole River, where it was deemed by popular acclaim to be cocktail hour, and time to switch to gin.”
-from True Love and the Woolly Bugger by Dave Ames, 1996