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
“Since September it’s just gotten colder and colder. There’s less daylight now, I’ve noticed too. This can mean only one thing – the sun is going out. In a few more months the Earth will be a dark and lifeless ball of ice. Dad says the sun isn’t going out. He says it’s colder because the Earth’s orbit is taking us farther from the sun. He says winter will be here soon. Isn’t it sad how some people’s grip on their lives is so precarious that they’ll embrace any preposterous delusion rather than face an occasional bleak truth?”
– Calvin, via Watterson
Reply Hazy, Try Again
Insert musings on hope, faith and/or Polarfleece here. Also seeking good recipes/fly patterns requiring freshly-murdered groundhog.
Who’s more likely to suffer an undignified and thoroughly goofy death at the bottom of a river with a chicken bone in his larynx – Buster’s pal Nofoolin, or Hammer’s dog Henry?
Consider: Henry is less than one year old.
Scientists have found a bunch of long-tailed macaques (steady now, that’s the easy joke) in Indonesia that fish.
We’re gonna be rich, boys!
“Groups of long-tailed macaques were observed four times over the past eight years scooping up small fish with their hands and eating them along rivers in East Kalimantan and North Sumatra provinces, according to researchers from The Nature Conservancy and the Great Ape Trust.”
Four times in eight years? Why, that’s barely a dalliance. And no gear? What the hell do they have to argue about during all that downtime? I’m beginning to doubt their commitment to monkeydom.
“Meijaard, a senior science adviser at The Nature Conservancy, said it was unclear what prompted the long-tailed macaques to go fishing.”
Ahhhh, there we have it, they’re fishing writers. Welcome Bobo, Chim-Chim and Snowflake.
Where have you gone, Kilgore Trout?
Purity – To Seas!
Interesting example of Soviet propaganda poster art from the 70’s. Quite different than the primary colors and crazy detailing usually seen in these things. Maybe a bit of hippietude aesthetic crept under the curtain? They look like humpies to my untrained eye, with some PNW-flava totemic stylization.
Translation: Purity – To Seas! – a departure from the expected pro-party sentiments. Why are they flying? Could it have something to do with the alarming orange water? Maybe Brezhnev had a secret plan to use trippy giant salmon-shaped airships to invade Berkeley? Probably wouldn’t have caused much of a fuss.