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Everyone had one growing up. Hell, more of us than we’d like to admit still have one hidden away somewhere, tucked out of sight. It’s something that helped shape who we are today.
No, I’m not talking about a teddy beer, a security blanket, or your first crush. I’m talking about a cheap, Plano tackle box.
You remember those? The ones with the flip open lid and expandable trays? When I was just a yonker I loved my tackle box. My room might have been a damn disaster (looking around me now, some things never change) but that tackle box was always neat and organized.
I can still picture it now, full of packages of Eagle Claw snelled bait hooks, Daredevil spoons (red and white, and brass with red dots) and a couple of Mepps. Red and white plastic bobbers went down in the bottom, and swivels were up top. There was also some kind of little fish shaped spoon that I think I lost on the river in the campground outside of Vernal, Utah one time.
Take a moment, and think back. Almost every single one of you reading this had or still has that tackle box. It varied a bit by region, some were more comprehensive than others, but they all served the same purpose. With those tackle boxes in hand, we became fishermen. We learned to appreciate time on the water more than anything else, and the knowledge that a fishing trip with your dad or your grandpa is a precious thing.
And like The Dude from the Big Lebowski, the tackle box abides.
Since my return to Bozeman and subsequent job in the fishing department of an outdoor store, I’ve had to learn a lot about gear fishing. As much as I wanted to work in a dedicated fly shop, I couldn’t make it work financially. Disappointing as that was, and as initially disgusted by the very thought of having to stoop so low as to sell soft plastics and worm harnesses as I was, after a couple of weeks it wasn’t so bad.
So I bought a couple of cheap, broken rods in the store auction and fixed them up. A cheap reel, some cheap lures, and I was in business. For a while, I was all sneaky about it, afraid that the word might get out that I owned a spinning rod.
But then I realized: hey, this is pretty cool stuff. It’s not fly fishing, and I couldn’t throw gear in a moving body of water, but for lakes, hell yeah. I also realized that its pretty dang fun to learn something new.
So last night after work, I bought a cheap, blue and tan Plano tackle box. When I got home and opened it up to organize my stuff, it was just like I was a little kid again.
Funny how the little things can take you back.
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The dust has finally settled on a damned hectic two months for most of us posting here on Chi Wulff.
Jake has finally made it back to Bozeman, damned fishy place that it is, and is carving out a new reality in an expensive mountain town. An expensive mountain town with more fly fishing options in a 100 mile radius than you can shake a stick at (or find in many other places in the lower forty-eight). Fly fishing options that a lot of folks around would walk out of their uptown city lives to fish up close and personal for a year or two.
He has a penchant for writing, and despite having a book in progress, he’s going to be writing a bit more on the blog.
Jess has, in a relatively short time-frame, been hired as the assistant manager of the Ponoi River Company’s Ryabaga Camp on the Kola peninsula. As of today she’s wrapping up a job in Austin and preparing to head up to the Seattle area to spend a few weeks and then head for Russia mid-May.
She’ll be writing a weekly column for Chi Wulff about life in camp from mid-May through mid-October, running her ass off with camp duties and grabbing pics, writing interviews and collecting stories for future posterity. Her work permit has been approved by Russian authorities and she only has to tag the somewhat hard to get visa now….
As I shared a few weeks ago, She Who Must Be Obeyed and I have relocated to the southern end of Puget Sound to capture an opportunity that popped up for SWMBO. My work can be done from anywhere and I’ve lucked into a part-time gig as the marketing director / tech flunky for the Gig Harbor Fly Shop.
After nearly three decades of plunking down cash in shops all over the country and wondering if I’d ever really want to own one someday, the stars aligned to allow me to join a team of savvy and very innovative guys who I think are beginning to understand (at least as well as anyone out there right now) what the future of the small independent fly shop might hold.
We’re hip deep in conceptualizing a new web site and store portal right now and the next few months will prove most interesting as several big changes in the industry begin to shape the new face of the retail side of the sport.
Quinn is still working hard on his book and still getting out to fish a bit. We’ll try and coax a few more posts out of him along the way.
We’re looking to expand our team and will likely be adding a new face or two over the next few months….
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Don’t get me wrong, I truly enjoy catching big fish on a fly rod.
In years past I’ve labored to join the 20-20 club on more than one occasion, greedily measured girthy rainbows on the Missouri, learned a few tricks with a camera to make ‘em look really, really hefty in the image and pounded honey holes in the fall for piggish browns.
Big reds on lighter gear are a hoot and I wish all to hell that I’d of chased some of the big stripers on the Guadalupe with Winston and friends while down in Texas.
Tarpon in Belize and big bones (Christmas Island and Hawaii – met a guy recently who chases hefty bones there) are high on list as are roosters, jacks and dorado in Baja. If cards are played well all of those might be possible in the next twelve months in fact.
Swinging flies for steelhead here in the northwest is a foregone conclusion given recent events (more on that tomorrow most likely).
That said, the attractiveness of a spunky, dumb-as-a-post 6 inch native cutt, brilliant brookie or gaudy panfish on light tackle might just, at least on some days, outweigh them all.
Because big isn’t always better.
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Woke up this morning to the heavens dumping snow on the neighborhood. Now don’t me wrong, I like snow, just not in the last few days of April. Oh well, give it two days and the weather will be completely different. That’s whats so great about spring in the mountain country.
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Friend of Chi Wulff and the family, mentor, occasional sage and full-time geezer Ed has a penchant for throwing get togethers where somehow we end up helping him feed 40 or better hungry friends what Ed calls ‘plain folk food’.
We’ve described Ed’s plain folk food concept a time or two previously.
Several years ago Ed had us help him with a summer barbecue feed up in the Flathead; he wanted a more southern than Texas themed menu which meant smoked pork shoulder and ribs and a nice, sweet and savory ‘barbecued bean‘ in Ed’s world (among other things, like genuine sweet tea, which is one of the South’s greatest contributions to mankind ever…).
We spent most of a sunny Flathead afternoon a few weeks before Ed’s shindig with him in the kitchen testing a few recipes until we came up with this one.
Ed wanted a bean dish that was reminiscent of the roadside ‘cue joints he loves to frequent in the South – heavy on the traditional ‘pork and bean‘, sweet with tangy barbecue sauce and packed with savory tones from sweet onions and a palette of peppers.
We convinced him that one of the secrets of great beans is the addition of finely chopped smoked brisket though he insisted on bacon as well. So we experimented and tweaked around and came up with this recipe.
The beans were a huge hit and have become a mainstay in our larder ever since; when we serve these at a party they’re typically the most requested item that folks want to ‘take just a little bit home’.
1/2 pound thick sliced bacon, cut into 1/2 inch dice
1/2 pound smoked brisket (add another 1/2 lb. bacon if there’s no brisket around)
2 15-ounce cans black beans
1 15-ounce can dark red kidney beans
3 15-ounce cans pork and beans
2 large sweet onions, finely chopped
1 red bell pepper, seeded and finely chopped
1 green bell pepper, seeded and finely chopped
1 large poblano pepper, seeded and finely chopped
2 to 6 jalapeno peppers, seeded and diced small
5 cloves of garlic, minced
1 1/2 cups dark brown sugar, firmly packed
2 cups of your favorite sweet barbecue sauce
1/2 cup whole grain Dijon mustard
1/2 cup molasses
2 tsp. Kosher salt (or more to taste)
2 tsp. liquid smoke if these are destined for the oven
Fire the smoker. Fire the smoker or light your real wood charcoal if cooking on the grill.
Prep time. Trim and cut the brisket; cook the bacon until crisp and golden brown, cool and then chop into 1/2 inch pieces. We’ve taken to chopping all the vegetables in a food processor to attain a fine chop – don’t create a puree.
Combine the beans. Drain the black and red kidney beans in a colander; rinse under cold water and drain again. Combine all the beans in a large mixing bowl.
Add the flavor. Mix in the finely chopped onions, the bell, poblano and jalapeno peppers and the garlic. Mix well. Now add the brown sugar, barbecue sauce, Dijon mustard, molasses and salt. Stir again. Finally add the brisket and the bacon.
Smoke ‘em. Pour the beans into a large (turkey-sized) pan – we use stainless commercial trays though aluminum foil pans work great as well. Place the beans in a medium-low smoker for an hour or so until hot and bubbly. If using a grill, add some wood chips in a smoker box. (If cooking in the oven, which works like a charm, add the liquid smoke.)
Serve ‘em up. These aren’t just gracing the tables or tailgates at fine barbecues everywhere; they make a great riverside lunch hot out of a thermos or cold from the cooler too.
Enjoy.
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This beauty was getting a little love in the sun last week. Man doesn’t live by drift boats alone.
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Pissing off the fishing gods is just about the last thing you want to do. Retribution will be swift.
Last night Shane and I finally got a chance to go fishing together. Not that it was really a fishing trip, as Shane has recently purchased a new to him DSLR. All excited about it, he just wanted to take pictures. Me, I just wanted to get out of town and go fishing.
For those in the know around here, the news that runoff is here will come as no surprise. We knew our options were limited, but we decided to head for a creek up the Gallatin Canyon. The road that was to be option one was closed and our second choice was pretty stained up as well. But it worked.
The next couple hours consisted of me chucking big flies into the seam and Shane running around telling me when to cast, where to look, what to do etc. All in all, it was a great night. Right up until the new camera, mounted on a new tripod, lazily tipped over on the bank and slipped into the murky depths. It was only a quick dip, but it was enough to wet everything down, get grit into the lens zoom, and get a droplet of water inside the lens glass.
(Don’t worry, I just received word it dried out fine and everything is working well)
Not too long after that, we hit the road. Just threw everything in the car like we always do and drove off. About halfway home, I had the sudden flash that my sunglasses weren’t around my neck. Or on my hat. Or in the backseat, or my gear bag. Nope, as we left we both heard a strange thump that sounded strangely like something fell off the back bumper. Indeed something did.
I would have been really upset about losing a nice pair of sunglasses and a sweet set of croakies if this hadn’t happened before. Pretty much exactly the same thing too. The next pair I get is going to be glued to my hat.
Whatever we did to piss off the gods must have been something pretty bad.
Regardless of the troubles, Shane did manage to get some good pictures. Enjoy.
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