Manhattan UsualFlyfishing NYC Style
Archive for the ‘What They Said’ Category
I am starting a new website with a friend of mine who is one of the best fly tiers around along with a very accomplished fly fisherman. But what we are looking for is a girl to join our team in the website. We are looking for a younger ( 20 and early 30′s), attractive and willing to be on camera. I’m reaching out to you cause it’s been hard to find one. I want to help bring more women into the sport. If gettin them exposer in camera will help , I am all for it.”
Dear Mr. Lost,
Thank you so much for your inquiry. I’m sorry it’s been so hard to find one …. Has it been since birth? Or the result of some mishap?
Anyways, it’s ok by me because I LOVE fishing. And MODELING, and “ACTING”!
I’m 50 years old and rounder than a float tube, but with the right shade of lipstick I am almost as pretty as this lady, in dim light. And I LOVE fishing!!
So when can I start?
I’M CONVINCED SPEY CASTING WILL BE THE DOMINANT CASTING METHOD FOR FUTURE GENERATIONS OF FLY ANGLERS, WHETHER THEY FISH BIG WATER OR SMALL, FOR STEELHEAD IN RIVERS OF ALASKA OR IN TROUT STREAMS HERE IN MINNESOTA. – BOB NASBY
Oh no! Weather.com just leaked the secret handshake, to the unwashed masses and bait casters of middle America. Watch your back, switch elite.
Spey is the Casting Way for Future Fly Anglers – Minneapolis Star Tribune / weather.com , Photo: Richard Sennott
How time flies when it’s fishing season. Here it is the 27th day, but delayed-onset inspiration is better than none at all. Thanks to How Small A Trout and friends for the cool graphic.
An accomplished blogger got the better of this beast, as evidenced by more specific imagery here. As compelling as an epic carp battle may be, I still find the look of this animal mildly repugnant. I’m trying to get past that though.
The ‘expression’ on this monster’s ‘face’ gave me a good laugh. For such a supposedly wiley creature, it’s pretty fixated on the nom nom nom. Like Homer Simpson with a donut.
I saw a Holstein calf do this once. My job was to move the calf from his one bedroom calf condo to a paddock where he could mix it up with the other toddlers. As I led him across the grass, he got the giddies and attempted an ecstatic sprint from my side. His brain totally outdistanced his spindly and little-used legs so he got about four leaps away and then passed out. I mean it, he fainted. On his side, eyes rolled back in his head, it looked like he’d gone into cardiac arrest.
I stood over the frozen calf, wondering how I was going to tell Mr Dairy Farmer that I killed the future sire of a prize-winning herd. Without opening his eyes or otherwise moving a muscle, that baby bovine’s black tongue emerged to taste the grass. Nom nom nom.