I have slowly come to the conclusion over the last few years that Capitalism should be the enemy of all right thinking fishermen and women out there. It doesn’t matter if you spin or fly, if you only catch-and-release (“by Jove”), or whack em on the head for a living. If the motive is strictly profit, we lose … and the fish lose. And, (here’s the thing) it is always the short term interest, the near sighted investor that presides over the destruction of any “resource”. The fisherman who thinks he could supply the town instead of the neighborhood and ends up fishing himself out of business is just as guilty as the fish supplier who thinks they should supply the international market instead of the city.

There is a word for unchecked growth: cancer.

I know only 5 (maybe 6) human souls actually check this blog … and only 3 of those actually read it … but if we all share the same righteous indignation with another half-dozen, and they do the same. Well, we’d all still be at it for the rest of our lives, but at least we could say we tried. I mean, frankly, at this point there isn’t much hope. We have taken the wrong path. We have chosen poorly. We must push our stone to the top of the hill every … single … day. (And, we could only hope for such a lenient penance.)

So, all you in the business take note (if you read my blog, which you don’t, so never mind): your primary responsibility is to your benefactor … and she is Mother Nature. Never, ever, assume that catching fish is the main goal here. It is not.

What is the goal of golf? To play the game, right? Ok, ok, to win, but that is merely the result of having played the game well. Playing the game is really the main thing, and that is where the majority of the fun and entertainment is, right? If the goal were merely to win golf would only be one round long.

It is the same with fishing. The goal is just to go fishing, to fish. Catching a fish is merely the result of fishing well, and not everyone does that, right? Of course, there are days when someone who can’t actually play golf very well still wins, which is lucky for them and a lot of fun. It’s the same way with fishing.

In fact, I’d argue that on some days catching just one fish is better than losing track … and, if they’re honest, I’d bet a lot of the folks I’ve fished with would say the same. Fishing is not (or should not) be a quantitative experience, but rather, a qualitative one. That’s what bothers us about the countless grip-n-grin “hero” shots on the average fish porn blog. That’s what upsets us when some SOB kills a great fish just for the sake of some obscure record. (Catching The Biggest is, for those “anglers” the ultimate form of having more.)

Turn your back on more. Forget about the biggest or the most. Cherish the one that got away. Remember the slow days that were still great days of fishing. Take those fish porn blogs off your favorites list. Boycott the grip-n-grin mags. Remove those links on your own blogs to the same. Let’s embrace the quiet message, the paradox that less is more, that the first shall be last, that the poor shall inherit the earth, that we must lose our (selfish, greedy) selves to find our selves… and if you get there, can you help me find my way?

A little clip of how to tie Larry Dahlberg’s Bonecrusher, a very effective bonefish fly. Read more about it the fly here: bonefishonthebrain.com.

They call it the quiet sport—the pursuit of gentlemen, poets, priests and presidents—but don’t let them lie to you. It’s an obsession, an addiction, a drug. And, just like any other junkies, we can’t tell you why we keep going back for more, why we keep on searching for that which cannot be found while in our wake we leave friends, family, and jobs—the detritus that, willfully or not, we shed along the way…

…and, come to think of it, maybe that’s why it’s so quiet.

Here’s to what we leave behind.

“Obsession brought us to this place… in search of a ghost, a phantom, a shadow that is all but invisible… unless you know how to find it… Flatswalker’s Journal, March, 2009.”

Windknot and Dad, guided by none other than Big Charlie Neymour, find themselves facing 20 knots of breeze… and some truly BIG bonefish.

To learn more check out www.bigcharlieandros.net and go hunt the Grey Ghost yourself.

“Flatswalker’s Journal, March 2010. We descend into paradise to look for the Grey Fox, but we also find a wolf…”

Do it yourself (DIY) fly fishing leads to an unusual discovery for this small group of anglers at an undisclosed location in the Caribbean. Barracudas (the Wolf) are on the attack and bonefish (the Grey Fox) scatter everywhere. Nevermind, they leave that flat well alone and continue their search for bonefish on the flats… and they find some.

The 'Old' New Skiff... before the overhaul

And We Don’t Have A Freakin’ Skiff!

Yup, tarpon season is just around the corner and our brains are heating up along with the weather. Just got this little piece of mental clusterflop from good old Nate “Dubya” down in Tavernier Key. I can’t figure whether to call the Bureau of Mental Health, just feel sorry for him, or start stressing out myself that this tarpon season may find us skiff-less. Read and enjoy.

So I have figured out some things down here.  I don’t think the carbon guy has his shit together to spend that sort of loot on his product.  “Some” is the operative word here [as in, let’s do “some” of what we should to have a nice skiff].  Damn it!  Is skiff construction a winter Olympic sport?

If I knew some of the right answers here I would find the motivation to work on it more at night.  Instead I dream I am sanding fiberglass in the nude.  I know it’s not smart but I keep on grinding.  I do however have a respirator on.  Horrific stress dream, man. I just don’t want to waste my energies or miss a tarpon season.  I think I have misplaced some of my energies lately, and I know I left it near my sanity somewhere? What do you think, Mr. WindKnot?

Dolphin marine has some goodies to be bought for cash:

• Old school poling platform: single pipe from the transom with a “Y” or split with two steps.  We will build an insert like the last boat, as opposed to a mount on top cap.  (Hope to score this for no more than $200.00.)  It also allows us to choose our desired platform height and gives the room to steer a tiller.  Not as stable as I would like it to be, but neither is my life at this point… so why not?
• Slam hatch for the transom replacing the circular access to the bilge.  Like the one on the old skiff. $20.00???
• 27-gallon fuel tank?  I can’t find one that works with her dimensions or my dementia.  It would take the whole space forward.  They are [freakin’] seven inches tall.  They put carpet on top of them.  They have a baffle but not a great one.  I am skeptical about this and wonder if they were not pulled for this reason.  Plus, that’s a lot of fuel. They have temp ones, but I would rather put a perm one in and glass in the step up to support the span of the cap above.
• Spray rails @ $44.00 apiece. (A steal.) They’re pre drilled and counter sunk and the Keys people quote $190.00 for the job.
• Rubrail, end cap and insert for $130.00… a fair deal and we know it is the right one.
• The tiller?  I have been looking on ebay, but no one can seem to tell me exactly what I need.  It cost around $600 new from Dolphin.

[And, after all that there’s still] the trailer.  It has no title. And is a royal pain in the scrotum to register it as “homemade”. [It’s gotta be] weighed, certified, serial numbered, and $200 bucks for taxable worth.  Is it worth it to refit it with new tires, hubs, and bearings? This shit is stressing me out. [I mean,] do I glass the rigging holes or put pie covers?

Tell me if this scheme is nuckin flagrently fucin crazy or smart and nifty/resourceful?

[Wait,] do I put the battery up front?… did you know all the fish froze to death?… L.E.D. lights on the trailer?… paint a tarpon on the entry?… shit, flush mount push pole holders?… composite electric trim tabs or bennett sports?

[Help.]

About the Author:

Nate "Dubya" Landing a Keys "Poon"

Mr. Nate “Dubya” runs a successful/struggling/booming/busting business building sweet-ass shit for rich people in the Florida Keys. In his spare time — which he has none of — he a fish-a-holic… recently inducted into the close-knit (yet suspicious) brotherhood of fly fishing tarpon fanatics. A self taught scholar of the flats, tropical architecture, and interior design, he hopes to one day finish rebuilding his own tropical home and have a functional skiff to wet a line on the fabled flats in his (freakin’) backyard (for goodness’ sake). (He has also promised to one day visit the author of this blog and cast flies at little bonefish in my backyard, but I’m not holding my breath.)