Salt Life

Tried my hand at saltwater fly fishing for the first time while I was down visiting my parents near Ft. Myers, FL. Unfortunately, I got skunked. However, a day on the water is better than a day inside, hands down. Followed it up with some beverages on the beach. Not a bad way to spend a Columbus Day.

Add it to the Wishlist...

Garden & Gun Skiff by Dragonfly Boatworks. Yes and please.

Montana Part The Second

Sorry for the ridiculous delay. Funny story though, I was all set to make this post, but a few nights ago after a few beers, I pulled the SD card out of the camera, held it between my teeth for a moment while shifting the ol' lappy, and then let out a biblical sneeze. Sent the SD card flying across the room and almost lost the lappy in the fracas. I tried to find the SD card but couldn't, and then gave up. Fast forward until tonight: I sat down in a disused living room chair and out popped the card. Most of these are of the fishing, which of course was epic.

We fished three days out there. Day one was with Cliff, who probably takes the cake for coolest dude over 70 known to man (TM). Cliff is a retired government accountant who packed up the wife back near Atlanta, moved to Montana and has never looked back since. Cliff was dropping the knowledge bombs on us all day, and while I'd love to share some of his insights on the world, life, women, and why I can't fish worth a damn, most of is isn't printable. Oh did I mention Cliff rowed the two of us all day long?

Cliff, muttering something probably unrepeatable, and his rig. 

E's sweet old Hardy Bros. reel. The ring you see is lined with agate. 

San Juan Worm

Brindle Chute, deadliest fly in Montana

The second day Earl, the farmer who made me move irrigation piping to "earn" my belt buckle, gave us a tip. At the top of a canyon near Corvallis, there was a great fishing spot, we were told. According to Earl it was "oh I'd say about a three mile hike." Fast forward six miles and we're still not there. We didn't bring enough water and we were officially getting tired of hiking with all our fishing gear. Then, finally we happen upon the spot. Picture a mountain stream in your head. Now fill that mountain stream with literally the dumbest trout known to man. Yep, that was day two. Slaying every single fish I cast to. A real treat for this northern boy who considers a good day catching one fish. From that day forward, however, any time one of us said "Oh, how far away is that?" someone would invariably follow up with "You want it in miles-miles or earl-miles?"

There are like seven fish hiding behind my hand

That did not suck. 

Day three was a pretty standard day of fishing (hence the lack of pictures, really) with my buddy and his Dad. We really got after it that day as E's dad is a serious fisherman. The highlight of the day was E hooking into a really pretty brown and learning the waders-in-August paradox: you're comfortable in the morning, but by about noon you're really, really hot. So, lesson learned. The pain of the cold water in the morning is a small price to pay for not having your nethers basically braised. 

Montana Part The First

We made plans to meet up at baggage claim at SeaTac. My buddy E was coming from India and I was coming from the wilds of...Virginia. We met up at baggage claim and after E berated the Lufthansa Lackeys for losing the one bag he actually needed (underpants, toothbrush, cuban cigars...) we were off. The plan was to drive dead east until we met up with some friends working in Spokane. Both of us were fighting exhaustion, his from a 12 hour time difference, mine from a RAGING hangover and a crying baby and a seat that didn't recline. I felt like we were on even footing...

Lake Coeur D'Alene

Koozies acquired.

Yes, I'll see you soon...

Huckleberries are a real thing out here. 

Visit Frosty in St. Regis, MT for all your huckleberry milkshake needs. 

As well as your buffalo bacon cheeseburger needs. 

Alright enough with the fucking huckleberries I get it.

Flyfishing is serious in MT.

...and then the neighbors made me do farming to "earn" my otherwise ironic belt buckle.

18 oz. of pure heaven, custom cut by the butcher practically next door

There was a little overflow, so I was lucky enough to have this view from my tent every AM.

Guest Post: The Hipster/Urban Lumberjack Misnomer and OCBDs

I've been traveling for the past ten days on a flyfishing/wedding expedition to Montana so while I'm working on putting together the photos and posts from all that, I've asked my oldest friend Matt to put together a post for you that's a bit more clothes-oriented than I usually do since I feel like this blog is getting a little too fly-fishingy and Matt is a sharp dresser. --Eds.

I’d like to debunk the misnomer that neither I nor (almost all of) my friends are “hipsters” or “urban lumberjacks.” Let’s get a few things clear first: I wear slim jeans, I like plaid shirts, and I ride a fixed gear bicycle. However, I also like undarted three button suits with the lapel rolled to the second button, J. Press ties, Brooks Brothers oxford cloth button downs.

So what does that make me? I’d like to say something along the lines of “urban prep.” (Again, whatever that is/means). Regardless, I’m not a hipster. I’d like to make that abundantly clear. So what defines my style and how did it evolve? To begin with, I like old things. I like the classics—classic novels, classic films, classic music. I also like history. I just returned from a five-week stint in London and my favorite highlight was doing a pub crawl to five of the oldest that London had to offer (and then hitting two more or the top ten the following day). I think that is the thing that defines me as far as style goes, and, in a weird way, has since I began dressing myself. As I said, I like the classics. Classic in a sense that despite the immediate fit
changing, the style and the materials would be recognizable to an older generation. However, I personally don’t take that to an extreme. It leans toward the cartoonish, detracting from the credibility. If you look like a caricature, how will anyone take you seriously?

When Brian asked me to write something, I thought I’d go to the foundation of any good wardrobe: literally the shirt on my back. The shirt that every man should own—the classic American shirt—is the oxford cloth shirt with a buttoned-down collar. It can be dressed up; it can be dressed down; it is comfortable under a suit; it is comfortable with a pair of jeans or a pair of shorts.

So what do you look for in an “OCBD?” For me, it’s two things. First I look at the weight of the fabric, and then I look at the collar roll. I prefer Brooks Brothers. They are the classic and still made in America. Furthermore, they are made in three different fits: traditional, slim and extra slim. Wait for a sale, and buy 3. They are not cheap, but these shirts will literally last you for 30 years, and the fabric is heavy enough and durable enough to withstand almost anything you throw at it—also, frayed seams are encouraged, just not in the office.

The shirts come in white, blue, yellow, pink, and blue or red striped. The yellow and pink are (again) the classic colors for an oxford shirt. In fact, Brooks Brothers introduced the pink shirt to men in the first place. Don’t be afraid of colors, but save the pink and the yellow for the weekends or off days—white and blue are for the office. Just wash, hang dry and you’ll be good to go. Also, if you ever needed an added bonus, there is almost nothing sexier in the world than your woman coming to bed with nothing on but your oxford cloth button down.

But what about non-iron, you ask?  Personally, I have an aversion to non-iron.  To be honest, they irritate my neck, but otherwise they are not “classic” and as such I avoid.  If you’d rather spend less than the high cost of Brooks, I highly recommend the Lands’ End Hyde Park oxford.  Well made and heavy as hell.  Either way, you can’t go wrong with the OCBD.  It’s timeless and works well in just about every situation.  I’m not sure what gets more classic than that. (I buy non-iron because I hate to iron. Just that simple. --Eds.)

Hoyt's Cologne

I'm not sure of the history, and I'm not sure where exactly it's from, but I've heard a few old Navy guys talk about it from back in the day. I officially have a bit of an affinity for antiquated and obscure American fragrances and this certainly falls into that category. On the plus side, I'm pretty sure it's also used for voodoo rituals, and you can find it at many occult stores, which is where they most often carry the 3 oz. glass bottles rather than the smaller plastic ones. It also comes in a tiny 1.1 oz size for travel or for small, intimate voodoo rituals. Or something. I had a bunch of scotch earlier. It smells mostly of citrus overtones and some herbal, fresh undertones and is a definite summer-only scent, but at something like three bucks a bottle, just get some and have it on hand. Your girl will be surprised if nothing else. Great alternative to more expensive, snobby summer scents. Also, I'm pretty sure it's made in America but don't quote me.

Urban FF

Yesterday I found myself in NYC waiting for the girl to finish a shift in the hospital so I had a day to kill. When I lived there, one of the best things I discovered was the Croton River, running through the middle of Brewster, NY. It's accessible by the MetroNorth and only takes about an hour and 15 minutes to get there. Definitely worth a trip if you're carless in the city and want to get trouty.