Have you seen the Klick' lately? How about the Hood?

No, and I've been single for months, but I'm fixing to play around with the D' before long.

Tailout personnel are currently tying things up in the west in preparation for tying things on in the east. At 12oo hours, the Master Craftsman himself reported to Tailout's R&D lab with a full recon report on the Gorge fisheries, the state of the third world, proper cola flavoring, OPEC, missing fly boxes, scandi line rear tapers, PNAC conspiracy theories, and the oft unheralded benefits of 3/0 mustads. I was able to pay attention just long enough to learn that today's intended destination was awash in untold amounts of glacial silt. Fuck.

No matter, Indestructatruck's navigation systems will be reprogrammed, the proper gear will be requisitioned, and some sexy little flies will be swung.

Olive Wooly Buggers and Blue Fly Lines: A Discourse On Proper Rations, Gear, Clothing, Transport and Technique

Tied it, bagged it, looped it, lined it, patched it, found it, used it, timed it.

Packed it, weighed it, spliced it, tailed it, spun it, winged it, flashed it, nailed it.

Brewed it, made it, bought it, iced it, strung it, threw it, grooved it, liked it.

Rode it, found it, set it, dosed it, woke up swung the fly and rose it.

On account of the cork dust...

Dear Sirs o' the Track,

On account of the cork dust, I won't be making it to the previously discussed pig roasting, hamster neutering and string bean throwing festival scheduled for 19-27 July, the year of our lord 2008. Allow me to offer my most synthetic apologies, which I've enclosed in this letter in the form of two pubic hairs, six shards of what was once a tapered carbon fibre tube, one used hankie, several thousand morel mushroom spores, five PBR tallboy tabs, and a poorly tied Blue Charm.

In lieu of your exceptionally exasperating events, my attentions will turn instead to a higher power and a lower latitude. Know that I couldn't want you any less, and as my automobile turns south and my leader turns over and my bottle turns upside down and a 'head turns on my skunk, I won't stop for a moment to turn my mind off and remember what I'm missing.

Adieu.

-NRK

New Year

Tailout headquarters are occupied once again after an extended fact finding, beer drinking and fish catching mission to the motherland. I certainly love the woods and water of Michigan with a passion born of lily pads on the lakeshore, whitetail deer, cedar swamps, fox tracks in the snow and late evening popper trips for bluegill, but it's awfully nice to be back in the Northwest. I won't pretend that winter steelhead season doesn't have something to do with the joyful nature of my return.

When in Rome you do as the Romans do, and when in Michigan I get down and dirty with flat bottom boats, four wheel drive trucks, pac boots, and hot'n'tots. Fuck yes.

14 inches of fresh snow on the ramp? Grab your oars and salt, and work for it.

Nice work on the big ass brown, Karl. It was a beautiful fish. Guess where it came from, kids? Yup, the tailout.

Knots

The first three trips of the season have proven my skills rusty, in need of oil and elbow grease. They've produced one fish on the jig rod, and one fish hooked on the swing and promptly broken off. Failure at the surgeons knot is unacceptable, though the grab and throb without a true battle only make me want the next one even more. Two more weeks of fishing and I'll be tight as a drum, zoned in and living the swing. The fish will come.

Dec 19, 8:30 am, Oregon Coast

You just powered up the riffle, the first one seen in 3 years, and you scan the water ahead for a good place to rest and collect yourself before moving upstream. Then you spot the boulder and you push up through the current until it lessens slightly on your right, and you ease over, four lengths behind the rock, and hold position as the current plays your fins. Welcome to the tailout.