Brunch Plans

Our plan was …

Walk through a particular state wildlife area chock full of unharvested (i.e. now splitting) corn. Collect an ample supply of dove meat, which when combined with fresh hot pepper and other fixins would provide for a fine taco brunch. Brush off possible heat – but keep ambulatory service on speed dial – and have a few laughs.

Ten trillion scovilles of tasty fun.

Ten trillion scovilles of tasty fun.

The birds had a different plan …

“These jokers are the only goose that’s gonna get cooked. Let’s eat, then digest, all that corn over there. The resulting sugar alcohols coursing through our bloodstreams will allow us to attain the speed and cornering capability of Ferraris direct from the F1 circuit. They won’t piss through shells, heck they’ll barely get a shot off.”

Just one bird missed the pow-wow.

Just one bird missed the pow-wow.

MG signing off (after a trip to the grocery store)

Brunch with the Fat Guy

Fat Guy Fly Fisher Kyle Deneen gets Mondays off. On this particular weekday start, he was near Denver (I planted a GPS tracker on his ride during this scene), and since the weather was supposed to be pretty nice I remotely re-calibrated the device so he would wind up near some fishing water. Thankfully, the guy is paranoid when venturing into urban environs, and won’t leave the house without being geared up in case heavy combat ensues. It was a sunny fly fishing brunch, fittingly near an avenue called Florida.

Alas, we hooked one pig between us that never felt a grip around its tail. But we did bump into local carp magnet Tom Teasdale, and were glad when he took off. Reason…he schooled us, with three fish in an hour (Kyle played net boy), including one tipping the scales around fifteen pounds. Pretty much while we were standing elbow to elbow too. Ouch.

Teasdale and Carp

Ok, so the guy fishes the brownwater around a hundred days a year. Still, I’ve got a lot to learn about these goldfish.