I am the F

Alright so this weekend was the first real worthy fishing trip of the season, and dammit I gotta say... I'm wiped. I pretty much rode all day on auto-pilot since I have at least 28 hours of sleep to catch up on. And no time to catch-up on it, heh, I'm fucking tired. Anyway, I promised fishin' stats and details...

This is the Pink Taco... I promised Scumbag a picture. It's actually teal, however it wouldn't be offensive enough if we called it The Teal Taco.

Anyway...

Friday night I barrel-assed to the lake, made a 4.5 hour run into 2.75. Nevermind the fact that I was leap frogging the back highway roads blaring "Highway to Hell" on my dope sound system (insert sarcastic tone here)and gnawing on pepperoni sticks at approx. 95 mph on average. Fuck the 70 speed limit, I got somewhere to go.

Lesson learned though: Chicken with Hay trucks can be fun sometimes.

Once we got to camp, we got hammered. Not just kinda hammered... No no that would be boring. We got smashed at the outdoor bar near the lodge, did shots, ducked for the bats that flew through every so often, and tried to take pictures...

Yes I said bats. In the bar.
It was an outdoor bar after all.

We tried to talk J's husband into getting his .22 out for some target practice, but since it was a public establishment we thought maybe that wasn't such a good idea this time.

And fuck you, my drunk picture taking rocks!!

Further I'm not the only one that tried to take a picture that night... Hence this lovely picture of me, that to this day J blames on the 'camera setting'.

By 1am we made it back to the cabin, got a game plan for the early run, and passed out. Well, J and her husband did... I got laid. Interesting how when you share a 1 bedroom cabin it makes 'sneaker sex' just intense. Though, I just said "fuck it" the minute I heard them snoring and proceeded to get on top and just get mine... twice.

Alcohol is like a one night stand. Feels sooo good when you nail it, but not so good the next morning.

Saturday Morning at 5am we launched the Pink Taco and it was fish on once we hit the bays.

The water levels at the lake were near record lows, which gave us an opportunity to chart the flats we normally fish OVER. Yep, levels were 60ft down and it showed. Our normal camping spot 'the point' was no longer water level, it was about 30 feet up a sand "tit". Hence the need for a cabin...

This a shot I took of the lake from 'the point' last year in September:

This is what it looked like on Saturday, from the lake to 'the point':

See those little itty bitty trees up there? Those would be the trees I'm standing between in the first picture. Yep.

September trip forecast: Will rock because we marked the flats and tits on the GPS, and will find them when the water levels rise. Nope, not cheating.. Strategy.

We did pretty well on Saturday considering we were out until dusk. We hit the rock walls, the reed beds, and the sunken thickets in perfect 62 degree water.. *sigh*

I caught 24.

In total on Saturday we caught 73 fish. Mostly small mouth, some perch, some wall-eye. J had a monster (10lb.) wall-eye that snapped her line when he thrashed the surface and bolted to the floor. We all had a moment of silence and a beer after that, since, well that was an ugly ass fish.

Saturday night we played crib til late. Again I was hammered. Ever played crib while drunk? Takes you 10 minutes to add 7 and 18. Even longer to remember that you would need a 6 to make 31. I, again, was too fucked-up to take moon pictures. Sorry folks.

I did not get laid, instead I passed out.

Sunday morning we hit another lake on the way home, great great great fucking bays with reed beds completely lining the sides. The presence of bald eagles nesting in the trees above a smaller offlet meant that there were fish in them thar beds, so we hit em... And it was a fucking success.

Yep, I got the sweet fish with a perfect cast into the shadow of a sunken thicket. AND I drew the 'first blood' title of the day. This makes Emma a very very happy girl you see, because a 'first blood' pat on the back PLUS catching the sweet fish is indeed a rarity.

I was a god for that moment fuckers... Bass master Emma even. I was the only one that caught a large mouth too.

I'm tellin ya... Ego inflation at it's most. I got cocky of course, and why the hell not?

Eat my ass everyone, this baby was 5 pounds with a mouth so big I stuck my fist in the fucker, kissed it, and threw it back to make babies.

I got the "sweet-fish-way-to-bring-it-to-the-boat-title", and damn I felt golden. Seems every Mothers Day trip the universe blesses me with a 'gift-fish'... Two years ago it was a small mouth 7 pound sweet heart that I fought for three minutes in a windy bay...

In total between the four of us approx. 110 fish were caught, four 24 packs of beer were drank, 2 bottles of Vodka annihilated, and 30+ games of crib were stumbled through. I'd say it was a successful trip.

Sunday afternoon was a blur as we drove home. Again, me at 90mph blasting "Natural Joe" chewing on Twizlers and realizing that I need to stop chewing on shit. I sooo want to discuss the drive, but to do so would bore the hell out of you.

Lesson learned: Faking orgasms in the car rocks.
Bonus lesson: If you start hallucinating while driving, it's best to pull over because dodging gophers on a freeway when they're not really there is sobering.