adrift_fly_fishing_labor_graphic_design_minneapolis_andy_weaverling_brook_trout_03I’ve stated ad nauseam that there is no finer fly fishing month in these parts than June. There truly are many fantastic times throughout the year to be a flinger, I just happen to be fond of June. As I recently searched through the battered remains of my Panasonic’s memory card I was left wanting. The pictures read more like a quilt than a fully-formed nookie blankie. There isn’t a completed story in the bunch, just a smattering of hand and fish half truths rounding out the lot. The rhythmic heartbeat of the rainy season has been more predictable than Lionel Messi from 18-yards. While things have loosened up a bit over the last week or two, by and large I’ve been washed out. Two extended trips were cancelled and I found myself on the receiving end of mother nature’s cruel hand more times than I’d care to admit. The ample mayfly activity that we so richly deserve after a tough spring has left us empty handed. And so we fish on.

 

 


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adrift_fly_fishing_labor_graphic_design_minneapolis_andy_weaverling_brown_trout_06Sometimes you’ve got to get back to the basics and simplify your game. Anglers dot the landscape looking more like Bradley Fighting Vehicles than proper fly rodders. I can be a staunch minimalist, willing to bare it all. Bask in my damn sexy chicken legs, ’cause there’s a good chance they won’t make another appearance. I enjoy the root beer frothiness of this frame, and couldn’t help but put it up. In a post lean on quality storytelling and even leaner on impressive conquests, I’m compelled to utilize such filler.

 

 

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I have a handful of new gear to review. Including my chaotic love/hate relationship with my new landing nets, but that’s a story for another day. I will offer up a parting gift of my 8-weight TFO BVK. This rod is all style and no substance, and cannot be trusted in a heavy weight bout. You sort of know what you’re getting in a TFO stick, so you just roll with the punches. A sizable common carp folded it up like a crepe during a blistering run. As I plodded back to my truck empty handed, disappointment washed over me like a light buzz. The all too familiar glass half empty mantra has been standard operating procedure as of late. I’ve been a day late and a dollar short which tells me my space time continuum has been out of synch. If it was easy they’d call it catching, right?

 

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