PINK AND WHITE

A couple days ago we circled up around a long table littered with florescent feathers. Fly-fishing starts at the vice. Tequila shots, beers, and buffalo chicken dip that left Pike feelin it a few days later- we tie.  Steelhead flies, nymphs, streamers, and for me and Pike, a big articulated musky fly – we were heading out to secret waters that weekend to hunt. Musky flies are tough and require a lot of patience, perseverance, and booze. The longer the fly takes to tie, the more beer is consumed. Needless to say, the fly ended up in better shape than tier. Pink and white.

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2015James MugeleMusky, flytying
NATIVE AMERICAN

Somewhere along the quest for Instagram fame, us anglers have been in search of that big fish. The big toothy bastard that will get you free shit or that epic salmon that makes you nut as you see it flying through the air. But honestly, fuck that. Who cares about the size of the fish you catch, really. Not what its about.

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CONFESSIONS OF A FISHOHOLIC

I have a confession to make. To those of you who know me this may come as a shock but, I, Lenny Bones, am a bum. But not just your regular Church Street vagrant, although not too far off,  but rather a more practiced and tactical bum. A fish bum. This past summer for me consisted of minimal work hours and plenty of time on the water. To my parents quiet disapproval I have spent most of my time this summer figuring out how I could work less and fish more. Living the dream. Most people my age used the summer to concentrate on internships and to build resume pleasers, I followed a different path. A path that somehow seemed to lead Boh and I straight to the water again and again.

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DRAGON HUNT

It’s 3:45 AM. We get in the car and hit up the local Foam Burger shop and send it to the river. Fishing stories are shared, but Pike does most of the story-telling. The funny thing about fishing for Esox is the more you want to catch one, the less likely it seems that one will take your fly. It is sporadic and chaotic. A slow twitching strip may entice a monster, just as a rapidly retrieved fly can produce a gentle follow, and even a kiss.

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BIG SKY THINGS

”Fish miss us sometimes too. Due to the location of eyes on most fish, there is a short window right before the initial strike of the take when the fly is in a blind spot for the fish. We just tend to blame ourselves, but in reality, the fish miss too.” _ Coach

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A PULASKI EASTER

Every spot has its master. The possessor of the knowledge of utmost importance and all things holy. For the Salmon River in Pulaski New York, his name is Stanley. With his swirling-ly regal and white mustache, you recognized him as a legend at first sight. And legend he was.

 

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EARLY OTTER CREEK HUNT

I see Gaga on campus walking his rogue dog Tina. He doesn’t belong at the library, but he misses the campus scene. Can’t say I blame him. He tells me him and J are planning on fishing in the afternoon. J is skipping his last class. Looks like I am too. So I sit in my next class watching the second hand slowly dance around the clock face waiting in anticipation.

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THE FINAL DAY

4:30 wake up call for me and Big One. Were on a mission for the giant Snook the local told us about in the canal in town. We get there at the perfect time. Unfortunately it seemed like the full moon disturbed the regular tide, and we did not see very many big fish. We had a couple chances, but nothing huge. But it was the day of our departure and we wouldn’t have been able to leave unless we got some fishing in.

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GUANAJA DAY 6

Waking up depressed. It’s our last day on the Island. The morning vibes were a little more somber, a little less rowdy in anticipation for the day. We eat the usual bean, rice, and egg combo for breakfast. The Big One decides to hijack Grit’s boots and hike around the mountains on the island. We had been sticking pretty close to the coast for the majority of the trip, and he decided he wanted to get into the jungle and bush-wack for the day. The rest of the boys decided to enjoy the last day fishing, no surprises there…

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GUANAJA DAY 5

The Big One and I took the day to go on a rogue two-man mission, exploring the flats past Mangrove Bight. We were delayed in our departure due to a feisty squall. Taking refuge in a small shack for about 10 minutes before we realized it was someone’s kitchen.

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GUANAJA DAY 4

Our second and last day in the boat with our makeshift guide. The first errand of the day was a boat ride to Bonacca, the island where the majority of the residents of the bay islands live. We pulled the Dead Runner to the gas station and docked up. Sheridan took Hewy, J and The Big One into town to find Internet to email our parents. We wanted to make sure they knew we were alive. 

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GUANAJA DAY 3

Rest day. As us Vermonters are not used to the sun in general, let alone the Central American heat, we needed a day of rest after our first day on the boat. The sun is brutal. Grit is starting to look like a full on lobby (lobster), as my poor sun-screen applying techniques result in blotchy burnt spots. The locals laughed at my sun burn patterns. I laughed with them.

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GUANAJA DAY 2

Sheridan, our cleaning lady’s sister is a local angler, meaning she just buys and re-sells fish that the old legends catch, but she does know where the fish are. She lives in a stilted shack on the water. Three rooms: living room with a tv, kids bedroom, and a kitchen-bedroom. Their bed was sandwiched betwee two big, rust stained coolers filled with dead fish. She’s a legend for sure, and we got along with her from the instant we met.

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James Mugele
GUANAJA DAY 1

Day 1: Exploration of the new turf. Our barn-house sat 200 yards up from the beach. We took the day to hike and scout. J got on the fish first, a sly little barracuda that he managed to keep despite his lack of wire. A true magician with the rod. The stoke was reel. The five of us kept moving down the coast. The Big One got another cuda next. I was fishing my own ties, thinking it was time to switch when the fish gods blessed me with my first saltwater fish on the fly. Little reef snapper.

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2015James MugeleGuanaja
THE ROGUE BOYS TAKE GUANAJA | PRELUDE

“Why do you want to go to Honduras for spring break?”

“To fish”

“Honduras has the highest murder rate you know…”

“Technically we’re going off the coast so well be fine…”

We needed something rogue for spring break. The winter has done it’s toll. The Boys are sick of it. I mean it seems like you can only go for so long without seeing the sun, not to mention we couldn’t even see running water. The evils of Vermont winters. We had to do something about it. We knew it involved fishing and the continuation our rogue ways of food consumption and toxic intakes. But more importantly the fish. Yeah…. The fish.

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James Mugele
A ROGUE BOY PHILOSOPHY

Life is a strange thing that is given to us without our permission. We all came in to this world through a bond that was created through passion and love. That same bond may not exist for some, and for some it may, but who gives a fuck, because nothing is guaranteed to last. All that life guarantees you are two things; the tangible and emotional matter that is collected over time through moments that will be passed on and shared. And death. Everyone thinks about death, who doesn’t? You’d be a fool not to wonder what happens when you dismiss your body, after the clutches of blackness evict your soul, leaving you staring back at your empty corpse. What you can’t do is let the Grim Reaper’s promise hinder you from stepping outside and fulfilling the only other promise that life stamps on your birth certificate, making memories and moments that leave a legacy and you a legend.

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2015James Mugele