Lip-Sync Proposal

Working in the new media, I get exposed to a lot of things on the social / viral front.  Most of it, especially when it is forced, is crap.  Heck, nearly all of it. 

However, there are those rare times where it works, and the results, well, they just speak for themselves.

Enjoy this.  And if you're a guy and not yet engaged, good luck in one-upping this...

I Hate Ticketmaster

There are very few bands left that I still desire to see live but have not.  One of them are the Foo Fighters - a band I consider to be one of the last remaining true "rock bands."  So when they announced they'd be playing in nearby Milwaukee, I prepared myself for the impending ticket sale.

Unfortunately, the ticket sale coincided with my fishing vacation.  No worries though - Ticketmaster is surely sophisticated enough to have a strong mobile engagement.  I should be able to buy my ticket from the comfort of my fishing boat.

At five minutes before the appointed hour I began performing the "Ticketmaster Refresh." - continually hitting refresh on my browser screen to hopefully get in as soon as tickets released.  And right at the top of the hour I did finally get in.

I selected one ticket, best available.  I was presented with something main floor, 28th row.  OK, issue #1 - where did all of the other tickets go?  The good tickets?  You know, the tickets that will show up on reseller sites at 3-10X their face value?  It makes one wonder...

Still, I was happy with my lot - I'd been on the receiving end of much worse.  Hence, I began what ultimately was the death march that was the check out process on Ticketmaster.com from a mobile device.

Ticketmaster was not optimized for mobile.  Not even close.  

As nimbly as I could in working off of an iPhone from a moving boat, I typed in my information.  Mistakes were made.  Response time was slow.  Then it happened:

A cutesy little "Sorry..." and the mediocre ticket I was so happy to be able to pay $100 for went "poof."  Right before my eyes.  Get to the back of the line, Jack...

Some day, hopefully soon, Ticketmaster will be rendered obsolete.  They do so many things incredibly bad that it is only a matter of time before they eventually go the way of the buggy whip.  And when that happens I plan on cranking up some Foo Fighters, snapping open a beer, and toasting its demise.  

I hate you, Ticketmaster.  Always have, always will. 

Memorial Day Pig Roast at Big Rock Resort

Every Memorial Day  weekend at Big Rock Resort, there is a celebratory pig roast.  Nearly the whole resort shows up for a pot luck, with the honored guest being a pig from Michigan, provided by a bunch of guys from the same area.

The food and company is fantastic.  Here's a virtual taste:

Two Ways to Look at Memorial Day

There are two distinctly different ways to look at the day that was set for remembrance of those that were lost on the field of battle.  

Here's one:


Here is another:
 

Leech Lake Fishing Report - 2012 Continued

One word for fishing this past week on Leech Lake?  Fabulous.  Simply fabulous.  Regardless of the wind direction or the weather condition, fish were biting somewhere; all one had to do was find them.

For the first time ever on an extended stay on Leech I caught fish every time out.  Every time. 

Pictured above is my buddy Jon with a monster 31" northern that he battled 10 minutes to land.  The picture does not give it justice (it didn't help that I cut off its tail) - that fish was a monster, and in 40 years of fishing Leech, the largest fish I had ever seen landed on these waters.

Unfortunately, it all comes to an end.  We leave here with bellies full of fish, a limit and a half in the freezer, and memories of dozens of fish caught and released that were bigger than 18", with most north of 22", and four (that's right, four!) bigger than 26".

What an incredible bite on an incredible body of water. 

Leech Lake Fishing Report 2012

Fishing thus far has been good.  Not great, but good.

Two nights ago Fuzzy and I found the fish at night on the flats, and boated a good number while running Rapalas.  One of them was a monster 28"; the biggest fish I've seen on this lake in years.  I'd show you pictures but Fuzzy hasn't sent them to me (note to Fuzzy - HINT).

Yesterday the wind blew hard all day, keeping me in most of the day.  By evening I was going crazy and headed out to listen to the Twins game and tow a Rap.  I searched all over, and finally found them after dark in 5 feet of water, on the rocks.

The only issue is that the wind was still howling.  Big time.  So when I'd hook a fish, I'd first need to move the boat off the rocks and then try to play and land him.  It was dangerous, and borderline stupid to be out there by myself doing that. 

It was just so damn frustrating to know where the fish were (90% of the battle) yet be unable to catch them.

So the fight will continue today.  I'll keep the updates coming.

Pauly's Fish

Nearly every year since my high school days, my buddies and I went to fishing opener in nothern Minnesota.  The dates and locales may have changed over the years, but the constant, especially in the past twenty years, was the four of us. 

And then, five years ago, everything changed.  I'll let Pauly tell you about it in his own words:


The accidnt left Pauly massively injured.  His life had been changed forever.  Outdoor pursuits like hunting, fishing, and golfing had been replaced by years of therapy, work, sweat, and tears.

Five long years. 

And while we all thought Pauly’s fishing days were over, we couldn’t have been more wrong, as Pauly made arrangements to join us on our annual trip this year.  

We started our trip in usual fashion, with a stop at Toby’s in Buckman, Minnesota.  Now called Bottoms Up or some damn thing, it will always be Toby’s to us.  It served as the halfway point to our trip up, and was a welcomed oasis for a dry throat.  It also was the place where we learned to throw darts, and tales of our competitions are renowned.  

We started our stop in usual fashion, with a Bloody Mary and a beer, and before too long the smack talk had started and someone put money into the dart machine, and we were off and running.  While JP and I maintained our championship, Pauly was incredible, and actually closed out a game for a win; needing and scoring a tough 20.  Awesome. 

We headed up to the cabin where we tried to make Pauly as comfortable as possible, and after lunch we all got the itch to go fishing.  

We used a rented pontoon boat to ease getting around and headed off to the first spot.  Coming up with nothing on our first drift, we moved slightly and put in for a second drift.  Almost immediately after stopping, I glanced over to see Pauly’s pole bent and thumping.  I immediately said a small, audible prayer – “Please be a walleye…” 

Pauly struggled with the reeling but was making good progress, and after a short fight, had landed this beauty.  I shot this video at the end of most of the chaos.  


I have no idea how much went into that fish in terms of Pauly getting to that point, but it was simply incredible.  Hollywood doesn’t write this kind of stuff. 

Showing he wasn’t just a fluke, Pauly finished the weekend with two other fish.  Not a lot by most standards.  But the standards had changed and changed so much that it was now beyond a lot.  It was everything. 

It was awesome to be there, to share in it, and to celebrate.  

The weekend showed much to all of us.  It showed, very cleary, that so much had changed.  It also showed that so much had not changed – not changed at all.  Not one bit.    

A Dog Named Blitz - Chapter 7, "Third Year, Part 9"

Blitz was no worse for wear from her episode with the fudge, and we finished the rest of the pheasant season in fine form.  And what a season it was.  Our 300 acre farm held birds all season, and the snowfall in December had made the numerous cattails very attractive to the remaining birds in the area. 

Our last hunt of that season was the most memorable for me as it highlighted just how much of a team Blitz and I had become.  We happened to be the only ones in camp that weekend, which was kind of OK with me.  With it just being us two, we could work the cover as we wanted and with no compromise to others in the party.  It also meant that we could move much more silently, and this was a distinct advantage as the late season roosters had seen, and more importantly heard everything we threw at them.  We saw example after example of birds flushing far ahead of us previously in the season, and now at season’s end, the birds were at their wariest.  So the stealth of just us was welcomed.

Blitz and I started on our usual path down to the point where she had previously broken through the ice.  After weeks of cold temperatures we were in no danger of a repeat episode, as the ice was now thick enough to hold the both of us.  As we pushed through the corn, it was clear Blitz was on a bird, and I hoped that were just close enough that I’d get a shot.  We crossed onto the point without the bird flushing, and I was hopeful that the pheasant would find a nice spot in the cattails at the end and would just sit tight.  As Blitz and I pushed forward through the cover my optimism grew as I could now clearly see the end of the point, covered up in cattails, and it was well within gun range.  If the bird got up now, and it was a rooster, I should be presented with an excellent shot. 

Sure enough, Blitz’s nose led her to the cattails, and she worked the edges feverishly.  Within seconds, she stopped, statue-still, with her head poked into the cover and her rear-end exposed.  While her point wasn’t exactly stylish, it was a point indeed, and I prepared myself for the impending flush.  I commanded “Get him!” and immediately Blitz dove into the cover, followed, as in one seamless motion, by a flushing rooster.  At 20 yards my first shot was true, and the bird tumbled down on the frozen lake, with Blitz right there for the retrieve. 

She picked up the rooster, and I called her into heel, took it from her, loaded it into my game vest, and looked at my watch.  Not even 15 minutes into the hunt, and we had 50% of our two bird limit.  If this kept up, we’d be looking at an early lunch and a lot of college football. 

We walked off of the point and headed to the switch grass fields of the north.  Switch grass made for tough hunting later in the year, as the flat fields are essentially race tracks for fleet pheasants that choose to make their escape via their feet.  And with the birds having been hunted hard all season, they would take as much advantage to this opportunity as they could.  We pushed through field after field, with Blitz showing no signs of any birds, and after about an hour, I felt like my prediction of a quick limit may have jinxed us.  Finally, as we were entering a large field, Blitz’s tail started to show some signs of slight interest. 

As I steeled myself for the switch grass chase that I expected to ensue, a nervous rooster flushed a hundred yards out in front of us and well out of gun range.  So much for the track meet!  The bird caught the northern wind and banked around and back into the middle of the property, 

Now I was faced with the hardest question that a pheasant hunter can face: does one continue the hunt as designed, or does one  try to track down a known rooster?  Most times when the decision is the latter it comes up empty, as these birds tend to land running, and won’t stop until they’re three farms away.  However, given my desire to close out my limit early, and given that I knew the bird was a rooster, I pointed Blitz in the direction of where I thought the bird landed and we headed off. 

We walked about 300 yards to the spot where I thought the bird had landed, yet Blitz couldn’t pick up anything with her nose.  We covered the ground in a circular pattern, getting wider and wider with every pass, but still Blitz showed no signs of a bird in the area.  I was just about to call her to me and head back nearly a quarter mile to where we left off when the tell-tail noise of a bird flushing from behind me made me jump.  I spun to find the rooster in the air and crossing hard about 40 yards out.  I was able to snap off one quick shot while the bird was still in range, but was woefully behind my target.  Again I watched the bird fly off and land about 300 yards out.  “Well,” I said to Blitz, “we’ve come this far.  We better see how this all ends.” 

We again got on a line on where I thought the bird to be and we headed off.  This was obviously a wary and smart bird, so I tried to make our approach to the landing zone as quiet as possible.  Despite the effort, the rooster again flushed wild ahead of us about 100 yards.  “Damn!” I thought.  “All that ground covered, and nothing!”  About that time the flying bird took a hard bank to the left and headed toward the cover next to the lake.  “That might be the break we need, Blitz,” I stated as if she could listen.  “There’s not much cover there.  If we can pinch him against the shore, we could get a shot.” 

We headed in that direction, and finally my hopes were high.  In short order we arrived at the place in which I thought the bird had landed.  It was a small strip of cover which was bordered by 50 yards of hardwoods, then 10 yards of cattails, then lake.  The bird likely would not cross into the woods and expose himself, so if we could catch a scent in the small strip of cover, our odds would be good on getting a shot.  Sure enough, Blitz started to get interested, and her tail beat hard and circled.  Back and forth she covered the grass, but our bird was not forthcoming.  Judging on how she was acting, the bird was clearly here.  But where? 

Blitz continued her grass rampage, and still nothing got up.  For five minutes she went crazy, but without any kind of reward.  The bird clearly was not here, and I walked to the edge of the woods to reevaluate our circumstance.  “That bird wouldn’t have gone into the woods, would he?” I asked aloud.  The old woods were made of mature trees which prevented any undergrowth from being established, and that meant that, if he crossed it, the rooster would have been out in the open an extended time.  While it made no sense, the woods was the only place he could have gone.  I figured we’d come this far, it was worth a try. 

We stepped into the woods, with me hoping that Blitz could catch some kind of scent.  Back and forth we moved, with no kind of reaction coming from the dog.  After about 15 minutes, when my hopes were waning, sure enough Blitz caught a scent in the middle of the woods, and headed like a shot toward the lake.  I was hot on her heels, as I knew our wily quarry would not present us with an easy shot. We were both on a run and eventually came out of the woods were Blitz came to a dead stop in an open, frozen marsh spot which spanned about 10 yards across. There, in the middle of open ground, she lost the scent. 

She looked at me with the same sense of frustration that I felt.  I feared that this likely was the place that the bird flushed, but flown where?  Across the open, frozen lake?  It just seemed so unlikely.  The only other option was either that the bird doubled back on us somehow in the woods, or the bird was nestled into the cattails on the shore of the lake.  Since the cattails were the only good option, I decided to work Blitz along them to see if she could catch a scent. 

We headed south about 50 yards, without any kind of reaction from Blitz.  Since I doubted the bird ran farther in the wide open that that, we doubled back to try the north side.  We got back to our starting point, and began our northern trek.  Again, no reaction came from Blitz.  I worked her about 50 fruitless yards and called her back to me to quit.  It was over.  The bird won.  He must have flushed across the lake. 

Upon my command to come Blitz spun around and was headed back to me, all the while keeping her nose to the ground.  About 10 yards away from me she stopped, raised her head, and looked me dead in the eyes.  The look clearly translated as “Oh, yeah,  It’s on, boss!”  And with that she dove headlong to her left into the thick cattails.  Immediately our rooster flushed, and at 20 yards closer than he had been all day.  He presented an easy going away shot, and I covered him with the sight bead at the end of my shotgun with my aim and squeezed softly on the trigger. 

Finally! 

Blitz made the easy retrieve on the open ice and brought the hard-earned bird back to my hand.   We sat there a second, and I marveled at that team we had become.  We knew each other.  We knew where each other were going and what we were thinking.  We could win against the toughest of circumstances.  It simply could not get better than this. 

While lunch actually got missed, as did some good football games, I would not have changed it for the world.