deaddrift.com

a star appeared in the east

2006-12-17T10:29:00.000-08:00

this summary is from the nebraska game and parks commission project for the habitat restoration of nine mile creek by jeff blaser.

"Nebraka's surface water resources include over 280,000 acres of standingwater and more than 23,680 miles of flowing water, most of which flow through private lands. The state's flowing waters are divided into thirteen river basins. These river basins are comprised of approximately 2,130 rivers/streams/creeks. Flowing waters provide important and at times critical habitat for terrestrial and aquatic wildlife. All seven of Nebraska's endangered and threatened fish species are associated with flowing waters. Flowing waters also provide a wide range of outdoor recreational opprotunities (fishing, canoeing, sight seeing, etc.) for Nebraskans.

Nebraska Department of Environmental Quality (NDEQ) divides flowing waters into two classifications- Coldwater (Class A and Class B) and Warmwater (Class A and Class B).

Coldwater are waters which provide, a habitat capable of maintaining year-round populations of coldwater biota where temperatures exceed 25 degrees C (77 degrees F). Warmwater are waters where temperatures frequently exceed 25 degrees C.

Class A Coldwater are waters that provide a habitat which supports natural reproduction of a trout population. These waters are also cabable of maintaining year-round populations of a variety of other coldwater fish and associated vertebrate and invertebrate organisms and plants.

Class B Coldwater are waters which provide or could provide seasonal migration of trout, do not support natural reproduction of trout, or may be able to maintain trout year-round if peridically stocked. The NDEQ surface water quality standards identify only 41 CLASS A COLDWATER STREAMS (about 2% of total flowing waters) in the state consisting of 565 streams miles (2.4% of state's total stream miles). This indicates the importance of trying to protect and or enhance the state's Class A Coldwater streams."

appears to be

2006-12-07T20:43:00.000-08:00

"It's been a long time comin,
going to be a long time gone..."

crosby, stills and nash

virtual stream

2006-12-04T21:46:00.000-08:00

note from fat marty, somewhere in patagonia, on the estancia named alicura,

"...there is a little bit of water between us,
but we fish now in a virtual stream."

lies, smiles, and simple truths

2006-11-24T22:46:00.000-08:00

"ain't life sweet and weird and wild and wooley and foolish and cash
poor and rich in experiences and opportunities....
wish i could cash in and travel and fish....visit and revisit the scenes
of some of my crimes, lies, smiles, and simple truths.

someday the wants and warrants will expire in pennsy and
surrounding areas, dubois for example, and then when the lawyers
say it is ok again, i will be at your door......fat tire beer in one hand
and a rod in the other, probably wet with a belly boat around my
waist and trackin in mud and freakin the dogs into a barkin fit, big
straw hat stung all over with stuck flies danglin and spinnin, grinnin
goofy, mud cheeked fore and rear, spitten out kelp, draggin a
stringer o smallies to be cleaned before the flies get any worse,
smellin o deet n stale beer n maybe half out of it on an advil and
tylenol cocktail,

sputterin bout freedom and let's go, whassssss holdin ya up,
awwwwww come on hush up them dogs, get them cats away
from the fish gut pail, we got some fishin n lyin n catchin up"

managing editor to publisher aug. 22, 2002

what are you doing out there?

2006-11-24T21:55:00.000-08:00

here's the deal. fat marty jumped the fence. the deed is done. now the plot thickens and the vibes is high out here on the plains. vigilante action, middle of the night, camo faced, hugging the treeline, running through the open fields, dipping into the ditches when the carlights go by, and filling the bottle, and high tailin it out of there.

been about 3 weeks in the planning stages, one deaddrifter dropped out, another wanted to be the one to do the deed, but fat marty knew it was up to him. high noon, time for civil disobedience....

so the upshot is f. m. is drunk tonight on 18 pack o beers all alone in celebrating and cookin chicken and ribs at 10:00 pm completely soused talkin to me on the phone while the ribs burn, blasted, out of his gourd high on fermented wheat and malt.
weird is getting weirder,

now we send off the sample to the lab, can't ever say who did the deed. gotta protect sources and the deed. gonna say we have journalistic immunity to divulge our sources....remember that phrase, may wanna tattoo that on our left thigh for later recitation.....yupster....we have crossed some kinda line here....

been trying to get the government to go out there and do it. they danced all around it and avoid the subject like the plague, and the epa came out and failed to do so....

lots o heat, our sample is gonna be discredited etc. but it will establish something for them to put up or shut up with their own legal samples....we are the baseline till they go scoop their own lil bottle of shit....

this is gonna be another storm on the plains...
so what is a little jump over the fence, scoop up a jug o water, and begone by the light of the moon to me....civil disobedience is my middle name....as henry d. thoreau answered from behind bars to a concord resident who said "henry, what are you doing in there?" well henry stared at him long and hard and answered, "the question is...what are you doing out there?".

thinkin about swans

2006-11-19T00:41:00.000-08:00

“...getting as far as we can is the best we can, more than one way home, ain’t no right, ain’t no wrong, you’ll find your own from where you are, from where you’ve gone...”

olddog/newtricks, songs of the new millennium

i was reading a deaddrift inner office memo by the publisher the other night, a long rambling thing about “the cognitive interface” or something. he went on about his newest project using the psychological principles underlying human personality and communication, about this is an attempt at constucting user interfaces that proact (instead of react) and adapt to human needs. interesting reading and i am glad there was no test after for it went on to describe his current work in continuing on the intriguing possibility of a digital, multisensory personality system that would encapsulate the basic graphical, vocal, mental and attitudinal characteristics of a person. he just won’t give up on the “intuitive web” idea either...and this got me sleepy as most office memos do read late at night....

and the image of the swan came back to me. from last fall. from the fishing trip to missouri. there was a low, misty, coolish breeze in about 30 acre quarry; full of water about 60 feet deep, up against the large rock wall dam. just me all alone on the water in the bellyboat with the quarrymen working the big boys toys on the other side, humpin through another quarry day. and me on the other side alone but for a swan. lonely swan. broken wing living there all summer and now the north winds are beginning, living on a spit of land with a few bushes and one overhanging, small cottonwood for shelter. and the winter coming and unable to fly away south with the rest of the group. rare for swans there. he just gave me lots of room and i paddled around and he paddled around. and i caught 12 to 16 in. bass and large bluegills and rockbass irregularly in my trolling goof casting technique. just relaxin with the dam blockin the wind and me in the calm water cruisin and kickin flippers and thinkin about swans and me and losses and so little gains and my worries and my art and my losin and so little winnin. and then i caught a few more on every fly i put on. each did its work, none rejected, just many slams and me watchin the line jump and not reactin, no hurry, no one to judge, just let em bump the fly and jolt my arm. no barbs easy releases. catch em not catchem no difference the jolt from the fly to the hand is enough. tells me they are there, truly there. tells me the flies work fine, just teasin em. too lazy to fight em. only the occassional slam and a surprized self hooked giant bluegill would throb the rod and demand attention in the here and now. then toss it back in and troll paddle up and down the face of the rocks and worry about swans and winter coming and havin a broken wing and so far from home.

minnetonka slumber

2006-11-19T00:11:00.000-08:00

"There’s no place like home. There’s no place like home.
Fat Marty mumbled as he slept fitfully in the warm Minnesota sun.
We had beached on the leeward side of a little no-name island to do shore
lunch and escape the bucking breakers and the sieve of a boat.
To get Marty ashore was no small task. Someone at the golf resort in Bemidjii
had told him some bear mauling tales and I had to lie to him that bears can’t
swim before he would even get off the boat. And then when I told him to
start a fire while I cleaned lunch, he wouldn’t venture far from the beach to gather firewood.
I returned from cleaning the fish just in time to stop him from pouring gasoline from the
boats reserve can onto the smoldering waterlogged driftwood excuse for a camp fire.
I left Marty sulking in the sun while I rounded up some dry wood farther ashore all the time hoping
I didn’t come across the bear that left his tracks near the beach where I had cleaned the fish.
When I returned Marty was sleeping fitfully propped against sun drenched boulders. Sleeping
the sleep of the gods. I didn’t have the heart to wake him even though he owed me for
disabling my fishing guide.
I got the fire going and as I waited for good coals to develop, I looked at Fat Marty and wondered.
I wondered what was the purpose of his traveling all this way to see me. This man, more comfortable in hand made shoes and custom tailored suits than the wool shirt and yellow rain slicker he now wore, had come a long way to suffer a hangover and serve as an indentured servant to a gonzo walleye guy.
He obviously wasn’t a fisherman, so his story about coming up here for the smallmouths didn’t hold up.
And KD had given him my itinerary so it must be important for us to meet.
But why?
I couldn’t help but believe that this had something to do with that CAFO mess we had gotten ourselves into.
Just as I had the slab bacon and potatoes going and a skillet full of golden brown walleye filets bubbling over the coals, and was about to roust Marty from his reverie, I heard the whine of an over-revved outboard. I squinted at the now calm lake and saw a bright yellow camp boat bearing down on our cozy little camp. As the boat came closer I recognized the tanned leather face beneath a fifty mission crush University of Nebraska ball cap. But without his usual trademark smile, I suspected that bad news was on board the boat being driven by ol’ One Tooth Charlie."

publisher's account of fishing with f. marty may 28. 2001

deaddrift in deadwood, jenny gulch

2006-11-18T23:32:00.000-08:00

note from f. marty 11/16/2001

"I've got to give you and the boys credit for sticking with the good
fight through thick and thicker. Don't see much of that anymore.
Seems most folks hang in there as long as the fight doesn't get too
messy or inconvenient. Don't know 'bout you but most fights like
this that I've seen or been involved in get pretty pissy pretty quick.
As I advance in years I try to be somewhat selective on which fights
I choose to get into in the first place. Every time I confront the
opposition they get to know me a little better. My biggest weapon
is catching them on the blind side with their pants down. Come in
when they least expect it, with guns blazing and don't let up till the
fight is won or the barrels have melted down. I admire you guys
because this contest can not be won with a quick strategic strike but
only through a long grueling battle. Not many folks are up to that
and all of you have proven yourselves worthy opponents. This may
or may not come out the way you would like but in the end the
folks will know they've been in fight and sometimes
that's the best one can do.

Keep the faith and do what you can, where you can every time
you can.

As usual you'll find me back lurking in the shadows always watching."

long pine creek, nebraska

2006-11-18T17:57:00.000-08:00

deaddrift tip of the week:

There are 3 state owned public areas on Long Pine Creek.
One is Long Pine State Recreation Area just south of
Highway 20 near the north sideof the town of Long Pine
(Park Permit required).
It has camping pads, picnic tables and fire grates,
hand pump wells for water, and outhouses, and about
1/2 mile of stream running through it.
Just north of Hiway 20 where it crossed the highway
is Long Pine Wildlife Managementarea with some
good trout stream habitat.
The 3rd area is Pine Glen Wildlife Management Area
that is 8 1/2 miles north ofLong Pine (turn north of
hiway 20 at the drive in theater just east of Long Pine).
Only primitive camping is available at the Wildlife Management Areas.
The area is scenic with both rainbow and brown trout available.
Be careful if you go fishing during shotgun turkey season.

a fish, a barrel, and a smoking gun

2006-11-18T17:15:00.000-08:00

"well boys, it looks like the government fellas been doin the midnight oil, workin, slavin, worrien, checkin with the legal dept., makin phone call, faxin, late night calls to the director, and postponin their vacations till this work is done. i feel bad about the extra work load. ya, right. anywho, i am sending the clarifications to KM to peruse and then my people will get back to their people and maybe we can wrap this segment of deaddrift research up and ponder the answers so laboriously created to spin the spin of the great government spin machine. i await the verdict in my hammock, watching my bobber from a distance, listening for the catfish bell to tinkle, then i will crawl out of the swaying hammock, saunter over to the rod and bring in the slack line, and then calmly set the hook in one upward motion. it ain't over till we say it's over. "

managing editor report to the dd posse 7/19/2000

rocky highland reservoir that just screams

2006-11-17T14:33:00.000-08:00

now as editor, managing that is, i have to, this time of year, realize that
deaddrift east publishing offices are off the grid until ice consumes the
waters around the publishers valley. most of the staff wanders the halls
with no marching orders, no boss to answer to or a boss to locate.
preholidays doldrums develop into ennui and morph into office malaise.
without the captain at the helm, the ship just drifts....
we have, here in the dd west offices intercepted some info originating
on some type of dell laptop located in a lund boat in a to be nameless reservoir.
our tech staff is working on a gps location device we planted on his boat, but the
signal is being jammed by interference of the trolling motor and depth finder.
nothin to be done. happens in cyclical fashion. just wait for the weather to
change and he parks the boat.
here is garbled info we gleaned from his last message to the office receptionist:

"i have been trying to refine my hunt for late season smallmouth this year.
i fish a couple of local reservoirs that have a good population of
smallies and are real sleepers for trophy class fish over 5 pounds.
the place i caught the musky today is a rocky highland reservoir that
just screams smallmouth. big boulders, chunk rock and shale and laydown
trees. 20 feet of water a boat length from shore and 80 ft of water in
the main lake.
today i saw a bald eagle that was sitting on a deer carcass floating in
the middle of the lake."
w

round as a tuna

2006-11-14T21:06:00.000-08:00

this just in from the publisher

nov 14 musky

about 48" and as round as a tuna
caught on a 1/4 oz hair jig; 10 lb test
water 48 degrees; overcast w/light drizzle. perfect pa fishing weather.
steep bluff bank
yeah, looks like i took the air hose to her too. 50 psi in the anal
vent. bet she has a couple 2 lb suckers in her belly ... or smallies.
i was fishing a little hair jig for smallies in 20 ft of water and felt
a tick. can't take credit as a musky man for this one.
the water is cold and the smallies weren't cooperating. i was getting
cold and considering calling it quits. i saw some fish suspended along a
stretch of shoreline and decided to work it with that little brown hair
jig before quitting.
it was amazing that the line held up for the 10 min fight. leading me
around the boat ... trim the motor up ... dance around 8 rods spread out
on the deck ... a pirouette over tackle boxes. sure would be nice to
have a nimble deck hand or better yet a camera wrangler.
i have a tripod but the camera gear was stowed because of the light drizzle.
i've got the fever this fall. i usually quit fishing when the water gets
below 45f but i have been reading about some techniques to catch bass
until ice up.
i had a good day last fri when i found some nice bass stacked up on a
deep outside bend with some deep tree tops. caught 7 from one spot no
bigger than my boat. the biggest just shy of 4 lb.
i am on to the fact that i need to work slow and deep until i get the
first bite. then really concentrate on the sweet spot. if you catch one
there will be more.... i am becoming more comfortable with the notion
that not catching fish is part of catching fish. i fished three hours
with out a bite until i found the spot on the spot.
i'm going out tomorrow. supposed to be 50s with showers. i should have
the lake to myself and a chance at another behemoth to wow the crowd.
the little brown footballs are my passion but the big gators are the
crowd pleasers.
i like the news about the fathead fed bass. do you think we could get
the lund backed down into the lake?
w

loopwing extended body parachute adams

2006-11-14T19:46:00.000-08:00

"feel surrounded by wolves. and now the troll from under the bridge emerges.
i want much for so little like always, feel just out of grasp something big and vital, accessible and ready to harvest. the longer this goes on the more educated and skillful WE become.
but i dont know what it is.
in my cockleshell thinkin on how to deal with trolls who come out from under bridges."
fat marty email fragment febr. 15, 2000

dancing into the nightmare's of night

2006-11-14T19:10:00.000-08:00

" and keep the boat floatin while i spun circles on the lake in a clear french air mattress while the world worked and warred and lived and died and i watched clouds, pondered my extistential vagaries of character, art, and this last of my greatest performances with my greatest role and finest director...never gonna get another chance at this crowd, this theater, and this play....
next moves gonna be tricky...
the deed is done, the fox has left the henhouse, repeat the fox has left the the henhouse.
and the lesser planets spin and whirl, the friends who fail you and the friends who save you. the moons rise and wane, the tides rise and fall, and all just dreaming without nightmare of day
dancing into the nightmare's of night..

and tonight the f. marty is rip roaring drunk, the professor unleashed, all alone, calling me wishin "you and wayne could be here to help me finish this beer and eat some ribs". celebrating alone...celebrating the deed, wishin he was the hero in the tale told around the campfire of the night the legend of the deed...

the deed is done. heard round the world. trust me. rolling plains thunder. another chapter starts right here.

and you are in the front row, the house lights dim, and the curtain rises for the next act, and the set is a marsh, and a lone man, hunkered down in the twilight, approaches the fence, and looks around, sighs,
and climbs over the fence..."

just players

2006-11-14T18:53:00.000-08:00

remember the great baitboy bill shakespeare and his "...all the world's a stage and we are merely players..." well that is good, cause..." fat marty said, "...we are just players, vegas is the stage...".

make time stop

2006-11-14T18:06:00.000-08:00

"it is all in the present, the old man said, all in the present. he meant the shortened deaddriftspeak of presentation. the act. all in the costumes and the sets, and the theater where the performance is held. all in the words of the playwrights dreams as they fascinate and frighten him. all in the "...sound and fury, signifying nothing..."

all in the drama and fake blood and gore of the shakespearean tradition or the modernist tradition of ennui and desperation......all in the publisher and editor....all in the song and dance and shuffle and jive of the show, give em a show, oh how they loves their shows....tinsel and glitter and vegas vaporous atmosphere...give em a show that makes time stop...and then boy ya got yerself a hit.........

ya gotta as an artist make time stop. not stop dead, just cease to exist as a fabric of your consiousness... poof..."

from olddog/new tricks, songs of the new millennium, kd bay

gold chains are vegas

2006-11-14T17:46:00.000-08:00

anyway anglingnews.com, how would that look on a t-shirt....

lordy lordy tommorrow i have to be at al's cafe for meeting breakfast becoming a tradition of the dd group....the sec. will hand over check to verdigre creek defense fund, (iampresident) and ah well ahum then i will hand the money to ah the front person and he will ah well ah give it to juney.....called the trail of evidence in my muli-lateral intertwined corporations in a shell like circumference of off shore securities and war supplies and of course if all cools down real fast then i will have a healthy selection of war surplus items i think some folks will be interested in, sure it is a bit scruffed, but hey they ain't makin gas masks as fast as they need em and remember the government always goes with the lowest bidder, just fact o life jack, walk up smell the coffee burnin and until the next war the stuff can sit in storage for years and years cheap, no lights or heat, just store it and cash it in the next time around, hell the whole fruitlooped world is pissed at us for something, these things are gonna keep happenning like cyclical locusts and habitual criminals. just cost o doin business in vegas man. it is the millennium, chances are more than lightening strike you and some lawyer are gonna tangle before the year is out. just a litigious times we got here mac, as the great patriot and innovative car guy lee ioccocco said drunk in reno on july 15, 1993 said to me kenn, i wipe my ass with lawyers....and ya know the look in his eye the total slack look in his jaw and the glint off his gold tooth, i just knew he wasn't bullshitting me. and i took it as a truth.

i think he really did.

not that i would. i think that is wrong and a waste of education.

but lee, that guy, god i could tell ya stories...but lee was a light hitter compared to fat marty...fat marty is the wise man you crawl up the mountain to ask your cosmic question....the buddhayouknew knew just by standing in front of you in a hawaiin shirt clashing with the blue sky blue water dazzle sizzle of a Mojave day on lake mead.....and the shorts too short for an old white guy...unless he was rich and could pull it off by lots of young women running around...and sure gold chains are vegas they only really mean anything as totem except in vegas and of course some folks think that in the bronx, say for an example, gold chains mean something, but no they don't in comparison. just don't. just go to both places, spend some time, observe empirically what i am saying...only in vegas is the meaning evident...

but i digress.

fat marty said things at sunset like "ya know bay, i live a charmed life. a charmed, charmed life." and bam right at that moment the sun set bam behind the volcanic littered mountains surounding us in the mojave sudden night. and bam behind me fat marty's three decker houseboat luxery lake mead's finest cruiser's photovoltaic sensing system sensed that it was dark and hit the internal lil computer switch in it's electronics innards turned on the generator and everylight on the mega-yacht went on with a audio whoooooooooopppp. we were bathed in light, me and fat marty...i was speechless. the sound system the size of a medium size radio station blasted into playing dean martin's greatest hits...and the three large large ceiling fans on the upper deck where sent whirring awaiting the dancers on the dance floor, and later somebody slipped on some reggae and i turned as marty walked out into the water up to his chin, holding his beer above the liquid lake, just a head floating suspended in h2o. holding up the beer like a grail. water like a warm friendly toasty bath, or a hot tub shaped like a thousand mile shoreline lake, and he said, go up and dance, "but before ya go rookie, one for the road...a friend is a present you give to yourself."

i turned toward the blazing lights and whirring cooling blades and thought of ice tinkling in a glass, and the riddim blasting out of the kind of speakers reserved for theaters or medium sized amphitheaters, and slowly climbed the steps to the 3rd deck and the party lights blinking and the laughter echoed out into the mojave sudden night.

old dog/blah blah blah blah blah chapter 13. page 8 lines starting at paragraph 6.

techie geegaw

2006-11-11T15:10:00.000-08:00

... it is way more power than I need right now, but there are plans in the

works that will test every bit of the new forge's processing power. And you

know what a sucker I am for any techie geegaw. Why the particle accelerator

with write back cache will boost our server productivity 100 % according to

Carl in tech processing. And wait til you play Quake III on this puppy. It

is so real you have to wear a clean suit (as I am seen wearing in the

picture) to keep the gore off the street clothes.

Zoom in on the monitor screen and you will see that I am hard at work on the

next page on our new FermieLabs Millennium Forge. Oh, we are having a little

problem with brown outs on the northeast grid when we process pages, but

once the nuclear reactor power pack is installed that should be virtually

eliminated.

Just don't you worry about the technical stuff back here. We got it under

control. Oh, and when you get the bill on your credit card ... just act real

dumbfounded and deny any afiliation with Carl. I had him sign for the

delivery and then sent him to Vegas. You should have Fat Marty pick him up

and .... well Marty knows the routine by know... I don't want any body parts

turning up in the fountain at the Bellagio this time though..

publisher report to managing editor and financial advisory group

recollection

2006-11-11T14:08:00.000-08:00

long ago, i drove through the night ... non-stop 20 hours headed for your

door... a chartreuse spinnerbait tied on a rod .. i rehearsed the line i

would use when you opened the door .... and the cast I would make to catch

one of your fabled lunker bass. we wasted little time after my arrival

shortly after dawn, and in a leaky boat packed with the best tackle we could

afford you put on a show ... you caught fish on a pico pop, and I think a

stick bait .. the bass were post spawn and suspended off shore. I made a

fair showing with my spinner bait, and maybe imitated your topwater style

... but I had been shown my destiny, and in my exhausted, loaded reverie i

held to that vision. we fished nearly 3/4 way around the lake .. well you

have the pictures and hopefully the memory is as lucid for you as it is for

me ... and then there was the time on table rock when bruce and i collapsed

in exhaustion, and you performed in the zone ....

publisher recollection of visit to dd west, catching a 5 plus largemouth about an hour after arrival

the tiny gnat

2006-11-11T13:43:00.000-08:00

bzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz bzzzzzzzzzz niiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii bzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

gnats a fraction of the weight of their quarry .... buzzz and nip at the

thick hide. the great beast shakes its head. and swishes its tail. and

shifts its position. bzzzzzzzzzzz bzzzzz niiiiiiiiiii niiiiiiiiiii bzzzzz

and one finds a tiny crack in the defense. and bites. tastes blood. and then

another also finds a tiny opening. bzzzzzzzzttt bzzzzzttt niiiiiiiiitt the

seemingly impenetrable defense, the powerful is powerless over the incessant

single mindedness of the tiny gnat.

chip chip chippin' away.

note from publisher describing investigative journalism power to bring down the beast.

the ear

2006-11-05T12:20:00.000-08:00

email from dd publisher to dd west managing editor in the midst of the creek battle,

"thank god it's not yours. i wasn't gonna make a peep after i got that
grisley thing in the mail. take a deep breath and breathe thru a reed like
tarzan did in that one episode.
figured it was yours and fat marty was tryin to smoke me out. next thing you
know body parts start arrivin and i'm left with "some splainin to do lucy".
i been fishing cross the lake from you....kinda quiet, slow cool jazz in the
background..a couple poles set with dead baits on...catfish ready....a pint
of kesslers to soothe the throat and cut the cigar burn. i see you come down
to the shore and look into the water, darker now since the first
frost....turning over..the shallow weeds receding and turning brown. i sense
your inward gaze and wait for you to look up an catch a glint of sunlight
off my flask. I have a place cleared off for you beside me. a rustic chair
of driftwood and rushes where we can soak in the last mild afternoons of
fall. watch ducks filter in, a heron, and a beaver...and contemplate our
waning middle age...what it means, has meant,...or if meaning is
necessary..wire brushes staccato on a muffled snare....a flugal horn gives
way to a tenor sax ...implies a melody unplayed....mellow as autumn sun
smooth guitar/wes montgomery harmonics joyously sad ...."

deaddrift home office

2006-11-02T19:12:00.000-08:00

Nietzsche said, "All great things must first wear terrifying and horrible
masks in order to inscribe themselves on the hearts of humanity."

big, two hearted river

2006-11-01T18:58:00.000-08:00

fly fisherman are made, not born.
my adventures in flingin flies was created by steve westphal in years of stories, details, tips,
laughter, tying materials, rod blanks, and shared serendipity.
i resisted at first. i owned a multitude of 5 1/2 ft. medium heavy bass rods with shimano matching reels gleaming down from the rod rack. i had 45 lbs. of assorted plastic worms n jigs.
my tackle box could not be lifted eventually. just would not budge. gravity took over. too many cone head worm sinkers, too many crankbaits n jigs n spinnerbaits n such.
i was a bass fisherman. bred for a pedestal seat, a foot controlled trolling motor and vast southern impoundments to be conquered from the console of a ranger bass boat.
i did not go fishing unless i had 5, count em five rods, fresh spooled, and loaded with treble hooks freshly sharpened.
3 baitcast rods and 2 spinning.
it took a wheelbarrow, hey i ain't kidding, to get my gear from my shed to the lake a few hundred feet away.
i was at the "go pro or quit" stage of bass fever.
in those days, steve was right there bassin with me, but he always was more the gentleman fisherman than i was. i was lbs. and more lbs. and records and personal bests and expectations.
steve was more genteel. and he gently talked of fly fishing the snake river near valentine, nebraska. just fishing stories then, but they had their cumulative wave effect on me.
he backed up his stories with old copies of flyfisherman magazine that was at it's zenith then.
the finest writers with stories, lore, knowledge, and a tradition of art and fly fishing intertwined.
those thumbed copies reside in a special wood box in our deaddrift archives and library complex now. they are still used for research and a nostalgic remembrances and searches for lost fly patterns.
eventually on a fateful day, steve dumped a couple boxes of feathers n bits of shiney stuff, and furs, and goofy things, and tools and a ten buck vise at my feet. "i can't see enough to tie flies anymore. you could do it. i'll show ya how."
well, i was hip deep in electric blue fire tail plastic worms and trying to get more.
bruce and i were trying to figure a plan to buy the company. it was up for sale at the time, and we figured that if we owned the place we would have enough for awhile and could worry about buying 12 lb. mono in boxcar loads.
but, steve was patient. and he needed some flies. so i began my lessons.
steve would come over every day for weeks and weeks and weeks and he would show me a fly.
show me how to tie it. talked symmetry and proportion. of "bugginess" and tactics and stream flow. i would then tie a dozen flies that day. the next day session steve would critique the effort.
show me new moves, discussed techniques, and suggested improvements.
then i would cut off the fly from the hooks and start over. we had limited hooks.
i tied flies for a year or more before i tossed them into moving water, learning on the lakes around me. i still threw the hardware, but my consciousness was changing.
i wore out 3 ten buck vises. i am on my second 25 buck vise.

couple decades went by and now i carry a lil fanny pack and a fly rod.
fishing for me now is only really "fishing" when steve is 10 ft. from me while i cast, calmingly narrating the action, when to mend to the left, wait till the fly drifts over the hole,
and laughing large when the fish fools me again.

steve is my big, two hearted river.

steve westphal's blog is at http://hoggertheblogger.blogspot.com/

come to jamaica mon

2006-10-27T20:41:00.000-07:00

"go down to the river babe,
honey, i will meet you there,
go down to the river babe,
honey, i will pay your fare."

baby, stop crying, b. dylan

edited version of communique from dd publisher,

"front moving in before the
temp drop from mid fifties to upper 30s today with a skift of snow.
wind was blowing 15-20 knots.
i caught a dozen fish. mostly smallies. biggest 4.5, 3.8, 3.5, 3.1, 3.0, 2.8, 2.0 (pounds/ounces)"

deaddrift tote bags for sale

2006-10-23T21:07:00.000-07:00

"no scientific evidence or environmental concern is going to find fertile ground in the compost of your thoughts."

kenneth bay

Dear Sir,
It has come to my attention that the publishing house may need to
intercede in the editor’s offices. Currently and unbenowst to the managing editor in
charge, the staff has been involved in a rather tawdry standoff dividing equally
those for and against a certain color prototype and style of totebag sporting the
deaddrift logo emblazoned on the side in fuscia and key lime largo green.
It is not the usual routine for the editing department to confer, worry,
bother, hassle, or discuss this type of problem, which i agree is strictly the domain
and resolution of the editing department with you and your offices and staff. Yet
this is one of those unforseen dilemmas that I face everyday, life is full of decisions,
you provide the answers ( if i interpret the forge contract dated 8/23/98 correctly}.
The key discussions seem to focus on the overuse of fuscia in the
background and some want to use a rather starker approach and just go full largo
green without the key lime. Now that is really just how it started. From there the
spiral in staff moral seemed to deepen the mood until those choosing sides were
seating themselves in the cafeteria in opposite areas, leaving many empty tables
between the groups that no one would clean up until a large wall of unfettered lunch
garbage built up over the weeks, from heaps to piles to large unmanageable waste
pits that the custodial staff refused to deal with. You see some of my problems here.
So far my office has followed a don’t look, don’t ask policy as stated in the
company manual and reinforced by the emergency memo from the publisher 9/8/99.
Many of my powers of course as manager come from my contract of course
and my close friendship with the publisher. The legal department is not getting into
this as they want larger totebags to hold laptops and the discussion here is about
totebags that are smaller, more for the beach, just cotton. I know, the company is
for all hemp products. But know that the supplier was stopped at the border last
month and our cheap supply of hemp cloth totebags and the whole shipment is still
being held by customs. I have been in constant communication with my Mexican
friend, Raul, who works in customs and he says maybe three to four months till the
case comes to trial and the cloth will then be released to us.
Until then we have been using long staple egyption cotton 50/50 blend
purchased in Naples (bulk lot container), shipped to Holland, delivered to New
York, railed to Chicago, trucked to Omaha, and I just usually send in George from
delivery to pick it up.
Many of the staff are still broken up emotionally in the change over to
cotton. Refer to memos: 4/6/00 and the more intriging and puzzling memo sent to
you the morning of the walleye tournament when the boat broke down mid-day. I
believe you said your copy got wet and was unreadable. I will send copy when my
secretary comes back from her sabbatical at My Lady of the Miraculous Healing
Center and Ashram. We all feel this is best she goes now before the Christmas rush
season which is difficult to book time at My Lady etc. Seems the holidays were
always her favorite time to go too. That deepened her depression and she at the last
there was a shadow of her former robust health. And then the totebag question
came up and she just snapped. Too much pressure after the hemp debacle for her i
am afraid. Just changed over night. Wouldn’t even participate in casual fridays or
bring her dog, Ska, to work on wednesdays anymore. She said she felt sad the dog
had to sit there at her feet and not play with the other office dogs. But the dog
fought continually with the other office dogs on Wed. and he was overweight for
his frame and well, he wasn’t Lassie if ya know what I mean. But I believe she and
Raoul had exchanged a few too many emails if ya know what I mean.
But i digress,
I realize your time is precious to you between the fishing expeditions, the
promotions tours, the opening of La Scala in Oct., and the many things you tell me
you do and your staff memos me that you do, and of course i follow the European
press of the travels and lunchdates in Brussels. I follow the paper trail here with aid
from finance and I see you still have that penchant for Viennnes silk products from
that little shop outside Tuscany. They are fine stuff, but of course on my salary out
of the question.
Actually, the whole flap of the totebags and color came down to I wanted
the exact shade used by the group that put out the last dylan tour t-shirts that come
out of Vancouver of all places. It is stone-washed kinda blue green and fits our
demographics of yuppie buying tastes I read about in a Cosmopolitian my wife read
to me at breakfast. Real cutting edge shade.
Sending you color swatches and if you could get back to me ASAP as our
computer aided design dept. is attending that seminar on snowboarding in Vail.
You may want to check the voucher’s on that group. They overtip. A Penny Saved
is A Penny Earned I have heard you say that at each director’s meeting. My staff
here follows that faithfully as it is engraved over the entrance door like you said too.

Please check the swatches. Production here is down till you make the call.

Sincerely,
Kenneth D. Bay, Managing Editor, Midwest Division, Deaddrift.com

cold with a burning delight

2006-10-23T20:19:00.000-07:00

here's dd publisher's horoscope oct. 15, 2002

Horoscope (by astronet.com)

“You could develop a great deal of emotional objectivity right now. Your

sense of the trends of the times and your knowledge of what the public needs

and wants could lead to important research projects. You may be able to

bring about some utopian dreams that relate to the environment, conditions

in your community, or events that are important for ecology or the

lifestyles of others. By October 27, you will be ready to take action on

many levels.”

but no big dd push. we got other irons in the fire and redesigning the structure of the corporate dd presentation of information and content assimilation, retention, and will be a research and analysis time for us. hey i gotta be tough. this ain't no girl's school. this is fishin camp. stay low under the radar low cover and incognito, wear the brown sensible shoes and get lots of sleep we got fishin to do spring fishin shapen up to a 4-5 state deal. requires sensible shoes.

yes. surrounded by legal pads and stun guns, smoking big guns and planning the southwest future. land o milk land o honey n trout n fruit n eden gardens amid the garden of the desert spirits who blessed me yes blessed me and told me spirit told me through an earth mother teacher healer of the new southwest that i am again being tested, that i must leave the negative and pain of betrayal and go through the test, lose the hate, lose the loss, and come home to the garden, all is there, the apple tree eden, now a raised bed garden is there, created in chuck's mind and formed by walt and cindy and kenn. now watered, waiting for germination in the cool spring of 4,800 ft. elevation in utah. the garden underground waiting for our fall visit. of plenty in the land o milk and trout and fruit for you n me n yours n ours n theirs n anybody's because we got rows of sweet corn growing for ya on you new dd southwest offices and rancho deluxe suites.

i almost got the last report done. want to get it up before i leave for vegas and into the world of fat marty. oh yeah looks like we might go. maybe fat marty for sure. vegas calls, ya answer. you know the drill. when are you gonna retire and follow me into another adventure? some life changing event ya regret for the rest of your rational adult life but secretly cherish as more precious than air and water to your soul.

"...cold with a burning delight..."

need to kick the long winter coals out and ride I-70 again in a haze and fury of pending doom and financial ruin and go for the zen desert the open skies and the places of rock and dust and heat. soul spring cleaning.

heavy shit be comin down. the endgame i thought was the endgame was just the beginning of the endgame.

the beast is awake and being attacked at all levels.

what are you bitchin about? you are in las vegas

2006-10-23T20:13:00.000-07:00

always wanted to show you the mojove at night on the lake with the woman all sunburned and the boat tied up secure and lots o beer and did i say ladies of course in swimmin attire and the water is clear warm as bath at all hours of the night.

keep an eye on the buzzards they wait for ya to dehydrate and keel over, you bet, the vultures are always awake and flying high above ya.

and the striper fishing.

ah the striper fishin. just cast into the swarming school of scattering baitfish as the big bass herd the bait into the coves and then into shallow water and then they literally jump out of the water to escape onto the hot sandy beaches. just a little moment in vegas for the upper echelon of ddrift. maybe drive up to st. geo to see the possible new las vegas area branch office of deaddrift southwest. did you get the pictures i sent? doesn’t this look like a good place to hold and house and entertain the dd first annual banquet and awards ceremonies and festivities? did ya see the size of the houseboats all air conditioned and several full kitchens and several bathrooms each? fat marty was on the top deck of his when i first met him. third deck ballroom on a houseboat. with 3 ceiling fans spinning the warm night and champange bubbles in my head. and the first thing he said to me was, “what are you bitchin about? you are in las vegas!”

did i tell ya about the submerged grand canyons all about on full moon nights and a huge boat pulls into the cove, big enought to be a great lakes cruiser and on the bow is a deck and on the deck is a rock and roll band and they anchor about sundown and start to play about 11 pm and then it gets amazing with coyotes howling and people on shore shooting fireworks out into the cove? and the stars and stars and stars and mojhave stars forever stars and warm water and 5 in the morning drunk ya can walk right out into the backed up colorado with no shivers. none. just engulfing warmth of the sun held in the lake mead days into nights. wouldn”t ya look good strollin down to the boat, with a beer in yer hand? that is the dock we tie the boat too. oh yeah. these shots are all the marina front yard.

did ya get my last transmission called pearls before swine? i caught yer drift about singin to the choir so i am doing a solo. again. the choir needs reawakening at the home stretch. complacency is the revolutionary’s greatesy enemy. ya can quote me on that one jack. i got a million of em. so the content is comin. if too much. i will cease and desist. but the new wrinkle of the new dairy needs to go up and some other coalition building i am trying to do to bring together in one place. i have my ways of getting coverage. we need the power of coalition to win now. power brokering is my business so i know these things and time for us to listen up.

we need all the coon hounds around the governors tree. all baying {sorry couldn’t resist.} and keeping him up the tree till the dogs are pulled down and put in their kennels. the other night on a pbs nebr. show on one of the canidates for something or other, a lady stood up in the question and answer and took over the place with her insistance to talk about cafo hell. one of our warriors i bet.

i know the main players now and they are listening. now we give em the songs. switch off the muzak and go for the gov. and his dairy inititive team. here is a new deal just between us not ready for publish or further dd

i am learning the tools so we can do this full time with assistants and a water cooler and an office philodendren that needs watering and a smart ass secretary that wont do what i say when i say. and trash cans overflowing with pizza boxes and 24 packs of pepsi and no cash flow and no hot water in the office mens john so when ya are hung over ya gotta go into the ladies to wash your face and look into the greasy mirror smudged with 11 kinds of lipstick and see the years of ddrift toil in the lines in your face the puffy eyelids from a weekend of abuse in vegas and sunburned nose peeling in nose sheets ya can peel for a foot or more off, and you will think to yourself. i should have got electronforge.com before wayne did. that bastard. everything would have been different. things would have been easier, simpler, more futuristic and shiney and well molded and sleek did i say sleek? your call the clock is ticking. the dot com clock is tick tick tickin away as you read this. no lag time. no note from your momma. when i go back to my real life. jeez. i had the real world. i gave it back.

the point is here ya go starten another fire storm back here. at least i am out here workin the crowd lookin for hideouts to fish and play till this all blows over.

that is what editor's are for. also i have been informed that a house in the netherlands rents for 150 american a month. hmmmmmmm

but now i am off track completely and late night rambling. hopefully you are long in bed. but somebody has to work the late shift and watch your back while you concentrate on the forge work. a look out as it were. or like i am. or like i was.

what was i saying?

oh yeah a fire storm of shit and travail and innuendo and enmity and a bit more travail some breast beating and some out and out running around naked yelling all the way home and then maybe just a touch more travail and then just heavy breathing and of course the ever favorite just plain muttering obscenities under the breathe.

oh yeah. some serious consternation. some immediate rural agitation. and i don't think they see it comin.

ready eddy?

yer patient and indulgent editor at large, not real large, just large enough to get the job done. no braggin just truth. why would i lie?

ps my real job is to entertain you while you work in the galleys. says in contract.

check it just to satisfy yerself. but it is there. rest assured it is there and ya signed it.

2006-10-23T20:07:00.000-07:00

“streetlight shinin, bugs will come and dance the summer dance about the light

as if no winter lived and only us in summer

dance about the summer light.”

kdbay, olddog/newtricks

kenai rainbow and the voice of dd

2006-10-22T20:49:00.000-07:00

new dd editor to dd home office

2006-10-22T20:24:00.000-07:00

so there i am in vegas gettin the bean counters finding me when i had deleted all the figures i thought, but those guys now have a lazer retriever on the business machines and routinely scour the discs to see what i have deleted. so now i use my compaq armada for all stuff they don't need to know. but i did answer the letter from the publisher. ya gotta keep the publisher happy. really do. they hold the hammer of the forge.
so here is my reply to the home office.

Dear Sir,

I understand your concerns concerning my upcoming first assignment out of town. Of course, I want to allay those fears as I included in the prospectus that Ms. Money will be traveling with me. I thought an officer in the corporation and from the financial division would keep me informed on a moment to moment basis on the necessary expenditures in keeping with the dignity of the position I have been entrusted with. An item by item list will be provided via fax on a daily basis provided by Ms. Money. She gets up early and
after her run and brunch will phone at 10: 00 am each day. These updates should be self explaining. The mini-bar fees should be comparable to those in Omaha say, or Souix City. The rumors of Vegas being more expensive is erroneous. The new family approach in Vegas precludes gouging anymore, not like in the old days when I stayed in the Sands.
Now we should discuss some of the points in your letter. As to the dress code. I find that in the “field” I should comport myself as a cool local. I find I recieve more information if dressed comfortably with a loose fitting hawaiin shirt cool and cool in the hot vegas afternoons around the pool. As only the mafia dresses in Vegas as you have requested I find that dangerous and unproductive in my reportage techniques. Ms. Money also will be charging some Nieman-Marcus Vegas mall attire when we arrive. As she was forced, er, in a hurry before departure, she did not have time to pick up some underthings and nite wear. As I told her then, grab yer suit we goin to vegas. I shot a guy in dockers
once, but have never worn a pair. they look quite comfortable.
As to the allegations of my mini-dress episode, it so happens i was on assignment from larry flynt yes the larry flynt and i had to escape a pool party when the local cops busted down the door and i inadvertantly in the melee, slipped on something to dive out
the window in and of course it was rather dark except for the candles and such and so i ended up mistakenly, accidently in ms. money’s little black number. and her satin pumps. at least they matched the outfit.
As to the financil flags popping up i wouldn’t worry unduly. I am sure that Johnson in accounting has it in for me. Ever since the party when Ms. Money rejected his advances and was found later on her knees fixing my zipper that he has used his position to undermine my fiduciary records. I would keep an eye on him as I find most of the chits i send in are reasonable and then he will add a few zeros and pocket the difference. He did it that time i went to Barbados and i agree my bar bill was a tall drink of water but he padded it with massages etc. that i did not recieve. To save money Ms. Money has agreed to serve as massuese for the trip and as this service will be done in house this will save at
least 80 dollars american per session. Ever since my last visit to utah when i threw my shoulder into a 3 year spasm from casting too much on the Seviour Resevoir i have needed several sessions per day especially after punchin the keyboard sessions. this is a professional need as described in the contract page 73b. paragraph 7 line 4 where it states quite clearly in three languages and i quote: “Mr. Bay shall and until further notice shall and will recieve “professional need” expenses commensurate and equal to or exceed not withstanding more than those professional peers in the profession of ddrift reportage.”

And again on page 174 para. 11 lines 3, 8, 11 dealing with “professional needs shall be catagorized as; transportation, clothing allotment (see page 118 LL Bean section) gear either digital or duffel shall be secured with the newly issued Cabela’s corporate account number 128393”, opened yesterday by Ms. Money, and as stipulated in the hiring negotiations i must travel 1st class. it is my allergies with cheap fleece. and the tourist class is full ot cheap fleece. sorry but the watery eyes and itching interfere with my reporting style. this is documented in my medical profile assembled by the good sisters of
our clinic of fallen nuns, in cedar falls. see appendix c “allergies and insomnia affect sexual disfunction.”

further pro needs are;
1. french sun block 2 cases delivered to room 1433 the Pellagio Hotel each morning at 9. Ms. Money has sensitive skin exposed by the new thong outfit.
2. secure line installed before arrival with cover aol link up required to fool the cia or fbi or any other 3 letter org. looking for me from past assignments. sure your past follows you, just got to tread lightly and leave no mocassin tracks.
3. ping pong table set up with tournament paddles and balls specified in contract in the epilogue pages. gets me loose to write and since i don’t go out of the room much i need the exercise it provides. at the present time Ms. Money is ahead 3 games to 1 in our round robin tournament. you haven’t lived unless you have played topless pong with Ms. Money and lost. of course i have this shoulder thing goin on.
4. fillets flown in from omaha each week. send at least an even dozen, i like to
entertain and nothing says lovin like steaks in the oven. this may seem extravagent but i need the protein. after a strenuous workout on the pong i like a fresh salad, light wine, pringles and a good fillet.
5. as to the viper expense. it corners great. it has the acceleration i may need to escape from say maybe the pig boys, or local mafia thinkin i am tryin to dress like them or maybe some of the ex-husbands of Ms. Money which seem to pop up in each city we visit at the most embarrassing times.
6. as for weapons, i find the corporation provided tools are inadequate for my needs and i will provide my own. you should update the weapons used by field agents. safety first. you who live in gated communities don’t realize the streets i work or the tools i need. and come reimbursement time remember i am packin and you got a company issued trigger lock that jams. you do the math.
7. as the “working women of vegas” is in progress i expect a special rate at the
mustang ranch and by the way jennifer says hi and she stopped using the creme and the itching started again and she thought it best you get checked again.
8. evian water. the big bottles. cases and cases. send em with the fillets. i don’t bathe in hotel water. sorry just a personal thing.

Now i realize i have more needs than listed but Ms. Money { known as honey} shall itemize compartmentalize conceptualize and verbalize as only she can in conferance calls on tues. at 2. answer on 3rd ring, hang up. and wait for 2nd call answer on 5th ring.

Please have no contact with me until the end of the next moon phase. don’t ask.

Sincerely, or as close to sincerity as i can get,

kenneth d. bay managing editor at large deadddrift.com

"with you both i get whole cloth" fat marty

2006-10-22T20:15:00.000-07:00

"everything in the circus is pushing the possible beyond it's limits." charles eames

after a couple of years of fighting the creek battle i was ready for some relaxation on the beach. let the heat bake out the frustrations, while thinking of what we have accomplished.
we are the straw that broke the camel's back.
ah huh.
and the camel is going down behind the scenes but the prop department and pr people are sayin the camel is just fine, just a little tired and sagging in the place where the hump used to be.
so. the rock is rolling downhill right now. i know they are ready to move forward we just need some organizing. so in the lull of battle, when the mental smoke cleared away on the beach i met fat marty. yes. i am working on our meeting description. not complicated and he says that night he didn't remember me with the crowd and music playing. but we have story to tell here.
gonna search out some of my writings to put together and the official start of
old dog etc. will begin. in prelude and trumpet for HOW TO KILL THE BEAST, the real book, the real job. this is just a test. and in between i am going to retell again the story told to me in bits and pieces over several meetings of the animals the old man and the ghost dance.
keep the readers a select few for awhile. just to test the waters.
this is a collaborative effort by the by. old dog is really our story. forgot to tell ya that all along. kinda interactive kenn and wayne thing or as they say in show business, co-produced.
but i was gonna tell ya by and by. wayne just found out himself, no secret really, just another load for the man to carry. what with gnuforge, deaddrift, electron forging keeps him busy. i used to hang around the forge and just goof and watch. then i saw what he was shaping in the din and clatter with the singed beard and wild eyes.....
scared me some, so i kept quiet till i knew he couldn't refuse...something i picked up from fat marty himself.
so. i would have told him sooner but,
just that
fat marty said, "...when the time is ripe, kenn," talking into the propwash of a small floatplane, i could barely hear him, just reading his lips really, "we will tell him when the time is ripe. it's on a need to know basis now, why upset him.
he has plenty to worry about with the florida account. he will be back whining about torn up fingers and torn our transom mounts. let it be. this walleye thing will wind down by natural enertia. then after talking about the upcoming class reunion you can just kinda lay it on him about the old dog/new tricks, songs of the new millennium is a collection of work from two people over the last 32 years, no holds barred prospecting the old and conquest of the new work of these two artists, you two i mean." here he paused, and shouted into the misty early morning rain on that remote Canadian lake with his face getting red, and the pilot, augie, gunning the engine in punctuation, causing the loons in the middle of the lake to leave for more quiet parts of the immense wilderness around us. "you gotta understand bay, this is too big for you alone. you are good, ya got the words, but ya need a publisher, hell, ya need a co-author, you spin, he weaves, with you both i get whole cloth. with you alone i get lots of yarn, but no sweater. i need the sweater. whole cloth." i could see he was getting impatient, wanting to go to the secret smallmouth waters only he and augie knew about. no one would tell me where it was. i was being left at the lodge, the plane was leaving without me. i had my orders. i could tell he was winding up the speech. "bay, dig deep. old prospectors like you guys got gold tucked away, go home, i know where to find you." and with that he climbed slowly laboriously into the plane as augie taxied out into the lake scaring the geese and rocking the dock as i stood staring into that canadain dawn, wondering what kinda breakfast spread the chef at the lodge had going this morning i wandered up the evergreen lined path to the warmth of the giant fireplace and the smell of bacon.

letter from dd publisher to new dd editor

2006-10-22T20:04:00.000-07:00

as if being in vegas on this assignment was so easy, with me so broke, and i get this letter from my publisher. i am new with the company, but no fool, i could see this coming. you see i did not need a job because i already had one. deaddrift editor. took up all my time between fishing. even in the past two years devoured whole chunks of my life, i hadn't met fat marty yet. still a few days in the future, which looked as black as the basalt mountain chunks looming over lake mead grand canyon style. so here is the letter...you see what i am working with here...

"Dear Mr. Bay,
I would like to welcome you to Brute Forge productions, gnuforge division.
We are looking forward to your report from Las Vegas.
Since this is your first assignment with our firm I would like to remind you
of a few guidelines we require of our offsite reporters.
Dress Code:
As was discussed with you at the new employee briefing we do adhere to a
strict dress code.
Though the proper attire is not actually spelled out, you will not on line
10 paragraph 3 on page 29 it states that attire "should reflect that of a
professional" nature. That specification is usually adequate to guide one in
suitable attire for the job. Doing so allows us to delegate the choice to
the employee without dictating some sort of a corporate "uniform". It also
assumes an understanding and an appreciation for acceptable corporate
fashion.
In talking with your managing advisor, Ms.Honey Money, I am concerned about
your interpretation of "acceptable corporate attire".
Ms. Money has reported to me when you were asked to appear for your
interview in proper corporate dress that you literally arrived in a
"corporate dress".
While she thought it quite stunning, the black off the shoulder minidress
you chose may not be suitable for all occasions. Even elegant accessorizing may not be adequate in overcoming our more staid client's unease with such
transgender displays.
I am not sure if this was some sort of misunderstanding or if it was some
sort of rebellious statement. In the event that it was the former, we prefer
that such crossdressing not spill over into your professional life.Let me reiterate, Dockers and a blue button down long sleeve shirt is as
wild as we get in this corporation. (Sandals with dark socks is our
concession to casual.)
Cash Advances:
Ms. Money also informed me that you asked for an unusually large cash
advance for the trip. While we wish to assist our off site staff with
unexpected expenses when withdrawals exceed the $100,000 mark it raises a
few flags. If you would be so kind as to explain the use of said funds will
assist accounting in determining the necessity of your planned expenditures.
In particular:
Airfare: 1324.04 First Class flight Omaha to Las Vegas International
Staff reporters usually fly coach if the destination exceeds
on days driving distance of
500 miles.
Car: 6342.32 Rental fee for Dodge Viper for 5 days.
The standard rental is to cover gas and mileage for a
subcompact vehicle as long as all
mileage is accounted towards allowed business
transportation. Meticulous documentaion will help you avoid denial of reimbursement.
Hotel: 2254.54 Mustang Ranch Casino Hotel While we appreciate the need to reside in comfortable lodging during a business trip we
contract exclusively with Best Western which have vacancies
within the minimum 11 mile limit to Las Vegas.
Misc: The remaining 90,000 sum for miscellaneous expenses was
inadvertently transferred to an anonymous off shore account. I am not sure how this got by Ms. Money after her meeting with you she seemed uncharacteristically disorganized and distracted. While she attributed it to some sort of virus she has been vague on her success in recovering those
funds. She keeps assuring me that you are quite honorable
and that those funds will be returned. I am relieved that Honey Money will be
accompanying you on your first trip as she will be better able to advise you on unwise spending.
Aside from these "misunderstandings" we wish you luck on your first assignment, and we are looking forward to the piece you have outlined on "The working Women of Las Vegas".
Much of our readership demographic is the professional woman and your
article is important to retaining their loyalty to our women's issues
portal. We anxiously await your daily reports.
WS, President

fat marty and dd publisher discussing dd editor

2006-10-22T19:38:00.000-07:00

.....see, Marty, I sez, I know how to work him..... uh, could ya hand me
another crawler?
Fat Marty is in the bow of the boat clutching the gunnel as we backtroll a
little northern Minnesota lake, in what I consider a nice walleye chop
...... "nice walleye chop?" he moans trying to get his thick fingers around
a fat Canadian wriggler squirming in the bottom of a leaky rental boat ....
Thick fingers more accustomed to doing a one handed shuffle on a deck
of cards at some Vegas casino than handling slippery mud bugs in a bucking boat in fifty degree weather.
"We're talkin freakin Edmond Fitzgerald conditions here Sylvis."
.....but, I continue, ignoring Marty's discomfort and his pale green
pallor...... you gotta corner the boy if you want to get any work out of him.
It's not enough to point him in the right direction and lubricate his psyche
with mind altering substances, McDonalds sacks of money, and tight assed
office staffers. You've got to set him up so the only way out is a fight.
It's not just the quantity you get from the pressure. It's like Superman
turning coal into diamonds. Its the pressure that transforms the
brontosaurus guano into a girls best friend. You got to keep the pressure
on him if you ever expect to make any money back on this deal."
But Marty's not listening to me anymore. He has his head pressed against the
cool damp side of the Loon Lakes rental .... nursing aYukon Jack hangover
and wishing he was back on his Lake Mead houseboat, maybe hosting a little
private game. Or back at the Birchmont Golf Resort in Bemidji he'd left early yesterday morning where he had been fleecing the naiive tourists on the links..
But this is the price he had to pay for getting my guide drunk and
layed. And once you got One Tooth Charlie started on a booze run I knew I couldn't count on him until he'd exorcised his demons. And ole Charlie had a long list of demons.
Get the net, Marty, I said, I think this is a goodun... I'm gonna let you do shore lunch.
original post by dd publisher

the fishing moon is wonderous

2006-10-22T19:19:00.000-07:00

waking in the furnace that is lake mead even in fall, in september full moon,
the fishing moon is wonderous. but i wasn't there to just fish, no, it is never that simple for a fisherman, and for fly fisherman you multiply the impediments triple fold, no, i was running, from business hassles and financial worries. running fast.
"no direction at all" as mr. dylan said. all prophesy that dylan. coming to vegas to rest up like bugsy did.looking for the last of the west, prospecting the last gold, the last vein to pan out, swirl the grains from the sand.

my first meeting with fat marty wasn't a meeting and it wasn't a job interview. didn't want no job. didn't want work.
unless both involved me fishing. just fishing. the creek fight, the business fight. well, they bring ya down.
keep ya from fishing. and it was an election year. painfull, but true. i thought i was immune from politics and the shills out front hawking their wares and out spinsoundbiting each other...
they all sound like clones, especially in front of a crowd...

"helllllllllllllllloooooooooooooooooooooo. testing? is this on? tap tap. i am so glad
to be here tonigh............t. good to see so many of you come out on such a bad night as
this. barely made it myself. came up the north coast road. the curves there are terrible. i
never could shift well with a martini in my hand. and the fuzzy dice dancing in front of my
eyes and the damn dog in the back window with his head bobbin back and forth, god i
almost puked. but seriously folks i am sooooooooo glad to be here. no shit, oops did i
say that? sorry uh {muffled laugh, with back of hand.} sorry its just that i am so damn
proud of standing in front of you all tonight. the night before the momentous day of
possibilities that lays before us in the next four years. yes, my fellow americans, and i use
that term loosely.....naw it's just a joke now.....take it easy, no harm done.....hehe.....its
just that through these dark glasses i can barely make you all out. you're just a blur. trust
me. and you know you can. i have read the polls and surveys just hours old and they all
indicate 64% of you believe my bullshit....i know i did it again.....sorry.......really...i won't
do it again. is this on? anyway tonight is the night. the road to history is a ride to the future and i am the driver and i got the map. most of you out there (43 %) are just glad to
be here participating in the democratic process and are awed by lots of balloons. well
remember i was the one who brought you those balloons. and you hat people. without me
you would have none of those fine made in america hats and banners you are waving at
me. give yourselves a big hand. come on. (clapping with them, hands over head) yes, our
finest hour is at hand. the white house is our new home. we bought it. and paid for it. big
time. and if someone here would give me a ride over there i will move in. and remember
that if i raise my hands like this in the peace gesture and smile like a fool that 22 % of you
will clap and stand up and yell loudly. (does gesture) (crowd responds with 32%) (because they love the attention of being talked about from the podium) ..........so i say to you the
(fill in congregation, auditorium, convention) the freedoms we have all fought for, me in
my way and you in your small way, now are culminating in the page of time as the shining
light on the hill, the big rutabaga, oops sorry i meant uh the big house, ah white house and
uh uh anybody got a refill for this........ah.....just a second.........be right back i need ice in
this.................norma.....norma......norma.......... (walks aimlessly around the
stage......exit stage left............................

working the night shift part two

2006-10-22T18:48:00.000-07:00

on arriving in vegas airport i was deplaned and immediately lost in the ding-ding of the slots and milling people glazed eyes comin and goin from the mythical vegas full power pedal to the metal. vegas yes, and all i wanted to do was escape before the deaddrift tee logo caught someone’s eye or heaven forbid full eye contact, and here i was lost in the terminal and no face in sight from the flight, the plane which was mysteriously empty but for me and few fbi handlers at a discreet distance, only two of us in whole section of the plane i was on. only about 10 folks in whole jet and the crew. and i want to thank them for their fine hospitality while i was in the air. as i was a bit wasted from the previous pre-flight night up to about 2 am tying size 18 red annelids imitations about two dozen of the little ones red floss with copper wire ribbing and a small red glass bead for a head. for the faraway san juan tailwaters just in case ya never know the west is a big place and the days of sept. are wonderful in the west. clear crisp days with full blue sky a wonder of clouds or cloudless days with the sun burning over the valleys with no wind and mystical red mountains and horizons piled on horizons of purple shadowed ranges stretching into the infinite western horizon.

and so i traipsed around the area i deplaned for a clue to my luggage carousel. first of all, no raul to meet me and drag these damn bags through the terminal, he is always predictable as to be unpredictable. no raul. wayne will hear about this and his hiring relatives to perform even the simplest of tasks. but no. luckily the stewardesses from my flight from omaha walked by me when i was the most frantic and seriously considering throwing some quarters into a machine until i was paged by c.h.s. and whisked away. well the good girls of the air got me steered on the tram thing that took me to the other side of vegas terminal hell and pointed me off to retreive all the camping gear i own and all the damn flies for the fall west i could stuff into a duffel. and my rods in rod case. oh lordy i worry about em traveling. but lo eventually they were spit forth intact from the belly of the airport beast unmolested and ready to drag to the car passenger area. as there was no raul i had to perform this dragging thing with the two duffels, day pack, and rod tube. and i had no idea where the car passenger area was. so i asked the cia guy who was shadowing me as i got my stuff. he was tryin to be cool and not be noticed but i just walked straight up and asked him directions. and said nice suit. and then dragged bent over all this gear i need to travel and survive the west. far west. farouthere west. where trout only locals know and die with the secret know west.

and as i piled my gear on the street with folks comin and goin in tempestous glory of american travel and being in vegas. flyin in. the excitement was thick. and just when i thought i was going to be there for days. up drives ch. s. and scoops me and gear up and the next moment i am spitting sunflower seeds out the window of a nice white conversion van eqipped with tv and working cigarette lighter. and chs and i talking and smiling and flying high towards lake mead callville bay and the glorious waters of the colorado bound by that big ole hoover dam.

that night i slept on the porch, coyote packs roamin the huge parking lot. screamin and yowlerin at the sliver of a moon on a cloudless night with stars as big as spotlights ya could read by em. sleepin on the porch overlookin the whole bay and marina and the flow of luxery boats and vehicles america’s finest parade going to and fro from the water.

and i slept again in the callville bay escape world. slept the sleep of a free man.

again free. sometimes a bit too free.

and in search of trout. free trout.

around me the scorpions, black widows, and rattlesnakes were workin the night. under a sliver moon, ch’s dog and i curled up on the wide padded reclining chairs and watched the bats work the parking lot lights. swooping in on the few desert bugs flitting about. working the desert night. as my jet lagged mind’s eye drooped and closed the desert was wide awake and workin the night shift.

and the old dog slept,
and i dreamed of punching little doggies and getting them along.

workin the desert night

2006-10-22T18:22:00.000-07:00

"...adventure? what kind of adventure? he asked fat marty earnestly. it was hot and the sun on lake mead has no shade to hide under. he was sweating and parboiled, sunburnt and nauseous, fried and burnt, stoned and sober, drunk and thirsty, and the sun was full tilt 122 damn degrees standing in the water chest deep he was being boiled gently by the nearly almost cooling waters. what kind of adventure? he asked again. fat marty turned, he had been gazing at his cigarette boat shining in the harsh light, idling with the low roar of a nuclear submarine, red and chrome and teak sculpted plastic go fast boat, fat marty squinted behind his dark dark shades and smiled.

why pilgrim? are ya up for it?"

note from Christmas past

2006-10-21T14:29:00.001-07:00

we have a huge overgrown evergreen bush obscuring our view of the front yard from three side by side windows. although we have lost the overall view of our bird feeder and yard, we have a wonderful view of the goings on inside the bush all winter.

our most frequent visitor is the cardinals who love low, lying bush and trees and tangle and thickets. a good place to spend the cold winter winds blowing from the north across the lake and whipping waves that crash and splash the shoreline, a good place in the pale winter sun to sit in the afternoon and watch the snow falls sparkle and tumble and jewel the evergreen. there the cardinal couple spent the winter nights. sitting silent and small in a prairie night.

this day it is just the male cardinal who hides in the bush. the mate was found dead in the yard some time late fall. no sign of why this tragedy occurred. maybe the cats, maybe hit one of our windows and fell there. just a fatal mystery brooding cold in a quarter moon still night. Christmas eve.

leaving the male in splendid red formal dress alone in the evergreen bush awaiting spring. when the dance will begin again. his song will again call for a female to share his evergreen bush world.

always have been two there. for years and years and years. sometimes they made their nests and raised babies in the gazebo because i left the door open for days on end, and then once they started the nesting cindy would not let me shut the door until the young ones were gone, some young ones were lost to the cats. many were raised in the gazebo.

the red of a cardinal in a winter scene is where god and art combine. beauty and nature intertwined. the boldness of the red. the excitement of a rich claret exoticness in a stark black and white nebraskan winter morning. the song of spring inspired by cardinal longing. the chirping incessant staccato in a cold winter evening, under a crimson and blue sunset, a small sad chatter of loneliness.

the male cardinal keeps active, the first at the feeder in the morning, taking control, strutting until the crows come and vandalize the food supply. the cardinal heads into the evergreen to watch the pillaging and noise and shadows of black cawing wings from a safe perch. he keeps track of the squirrels drawn to the Christmas critter feast. chattering and chasing each other witless as they come down from the trees to root about the base of the feeder to find the crows scattered crumbs. juncos and brown creepers are his friend and all can sit side by side sharing bread. but a yellow shafted flicker abruptly scatters the crowd and loudly laughs a metallic manic sound of possession. but the cardinal is always the first back to the platform when things calm down, between flights of late season robins and quiet and reclusive waxwings and the sputterings of random sparrows.

always one of the last birds to roost now, flitting from low tree to bush, loudly voicing the coming of another freezing night of windless calm. his chip chip chip song his alert call to no one but himself now. no answering chip chip to calm him as he settles into his dark perch.

waiting out another valley winter solitude

in a christmas tree in formal wear with a bandit’s mask.

kenneth d. bay, excerpt: songs of the new millennium, olddog/newtricks

deaddrift news

2006-10-18T06:33:00.000-07:00

welcome to deaddrift blog.
visit deaddrift.com.
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