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Dan Fallon's World of Fly fishing

Column nr. 2 2011  


Fly Fishing Slovenia 2011

  An old friend who has slowly built a fine reputation as the accomplished well traveled Fly Fisher/Guide to contact in Slovenia located in Europe bordered by Italy. Roc Lustrik www.lustrik.com has been mentioned in this column several times over the years because his addiction to finding, catching and releasing Hugefied fresh water fish is established! His clients have regular hook ups and leave satisfied. The rivers Roc works, tributaries, small streams that flow into the Adriatic Sea where world class Marble Trout prowl ancient waters provide Roc and his clients infinite possibilities!

Roc Lustrik with Marble Trout at Soca river

  Take a close look at the Marble Trout photo and visualize the native Trout in your country? Do they have the same dark, Plasticine Age appearance? The ferocious jaw and general uncivilized tough look? Most likely not unless you live in places like Tibet, Mongolia, Northern Japan. In these waters and rivers wild fish exist with these ancient characteristics. As a simple example North American Trout look to my eyes like sleek sports cars highly refined and pretty. The Marble Trout Rocmeister plays with look like Mike Tyson after he finds out you lied about getting his daughter pregnant fool!

Roc Lustrik with Huchen salmon


  So far so good as far as annual rain fall is concerned here in the land of milk and honey! As is the case around the world California has no really accurate weather modeling technology that can understand the duality of El Nino and Global Warming swings in temperature and precipitation. Fly fishers have seen the extremes in the last ten years or so. Some Springs have arrived without any water still flowing as the High Sierra Ice Pack is non existent. Other year round opportunities do exist for those fly fishers who can never get enough river/stream/creek time. Private property can be worked year around as well as the many lakes and several special sections of prime rivers. The days of year after year of gorging raging rivers that never die as hot summer comes to town appear to be over forever! Perhaps fly fishers are the true Canary in the ugly Black Hole Coal Mine called global Warming. We see and feel the rivers ebb and flow each season and feel the strength against waders, sense the changing temperatures and the behavior of game fish trying to adapt.

  These days one must become an amateur scientist to decipher rapid changing conditions. Example, California Brown Trout which can become hugified! Many caught over ten pounds are happier in still warmer waters. The mutant Hatchery raised ignorant Rainbow planter trout are raised in cold waters and then dumped into often warmer turgid still waters and quickly die. The world of California fly fishing is changing as quickly as the climate changes, a whole new ball game Cowboys!

  The swings in rain fall and the attendant disruptions are not common to California as I have heard from fly fishing guides in Africa, Tibet, Japan, Ecuador, Slovenia, Russia, China who speak of the effects of the current weather disruptions. In my mind the jury may still be out Pilgrims? I have read studies that support these Global Warming theories based on past known climate records? So what? The world is more complex and unpredictable then these models have unraveled yet? We fellow helpless humans may very well have absolutely no idea what so ever as to what will happen next year or 1000 years from now. All this hot rhetoric may be the result of TOO many over educated with little else to do but postulate doom and gloom?

  By Dan Fallon 2011





© Phil Frank 2002

Illustrated By Phil Frank,
San Francisco Chronicle Cartoonist, creator of "Farley"

"The ceremony of innocense is drowned;
The best lack all conviction, while the
Worst are full of passionate intensity!"
"The Second Coming"
W. B. Yeats 1865 - 1918

  Socialist States America Supreme Court Junior Justice Fletcher Quill sits staring out his private chambers bay window as his loving Abyssinian cat Timba (freshly flown in from Raven’s Haven Quill’s beloved Irish castle ) sits in his lap purrrring like Tiger Woods after a hole in one . It’s three A.M. Quill is blowing his Hohner Key of G gold plated harp running down the whole Muddy Waters, Albert Collins, Little Richard song book and getting so fucking soulful all the black late night janitors are sitting out side his chambers doors rolling and tumbling with the old man blowing some soulful Dirty Old White Boy (D.O.W.B)....... Quill plays his most mournful when he has Timba his best friend cat that reminds him of all the feline domesticus that have graced his long 60 plus years. Oh yes, old Jack his Black & White alley cat that stayed with him for ten years. Jack slept on Quill’s chest every night for ten years! Then came the twins, pure white Siamese brothers named Oden & Pan. They lived and helped tie endless flies while watching birds and Butterflies dive outside Quill’s mountain home for only a few years and then they were gone. Then came the current feline ruler of all things Fletcher Quill, his highness the no shit taking Abyssinian Timba who has backed down Pit Bulls and humans more then once. He don’t like being petted and cooed over by strange woman. He has bit many who tried to touch that killer fawn coat he keeps spotless. He and Quill are inseparable simply because he is the equivalent of Quill’s well known " Junk Yard Dog ! " Philosophy contained in ten pounds of pure, " DO NOT FUCK WITH ME " . Quill’s personal man Drake who has been his valet for over thirty years, through all the Marine General Years and the later fly fishing diplomat Assassin epoch quietly appears. He is carrying Timba’s favorite late night pick me up concoction. A specially prepared warm dish of wild Blackberry Honey, fresh cream, and just a tiny shot of 100 year old Irish Brandy for good fucking measure!

"Drake my old friend all the woman are jealous of this cat! They say, " You treat that cat with more respect and tenderness then you ever show me Quill! " Of course my standard reply if I even bother is, " This fucking little beast has NEVER let me down in his entire 13 year existence! He is always happy to see my old face. Doesn’t matter if I’m sad, depressed, or pissed off. He NEVER fucking lets me down! Comprende’."

"Sir, the most distinguished Justice Stephen Breyer asked me if it would be convenient to have him drop by and discuss several rules that manage the procedures you are about to experience, Lord I prey I got that anywhere near correct Sir?"

"No worries , off to bed my friend, tell Justice Breyer to come by right now and enlighten."

  The old Marine General walks over to his newly installed Gold Bong/ Irish Whiskey/ Single Malt hidden Bar and loads up a giant Bong hit of the just arrived HumboltTrainwreckInYooo Mamma’face Killer Buddage dropped off by his old Pal The Dali Lama. Quill spends around in his floor mirror executing an almost perfect reverse triple spin kick with fucking still deadly accuracy. His mind quickly with no urging remembers the last time his life long obsession with Marine style martial arts was used. An underground garage late at night with two of his main Chicago South Side Bitches In Waiting (CSSBIW), Both Stripper Pole Dancers at the world famous Doll House. Quill had just parked his bad to the bone black Caddy Eldo. His right hand and fingers were deep inside little Ms. Bethany as Samantha was busy chewing on his Iconish 8- inch Cobra when all Hell broke loose! Two drunk Pimps in a lowered cream colored Lincoln roll up loud ass stereo blaring and knock on Quill’s window looking for a cigarette light! Fletcher went fucking berzerrrrk and put one of the Brothers in a coma for six days. The other needed three operations to repair his badly broken jaw.

"Good evening Mr. Quill or is it General Quill or Secretary Of The Interior Quill or is it...?"

"Take a load off Stevie boy, just thinking back to some rare Chicago Pole Dancers that did the wild Thang all over my Edorado’s soft back seat leather one rainy cold ass night long ago. Sooo what is your poison Stevie? Name it Bro, 100 year old Single Malt, Bong Hit of killer weed, think I have a needle and kit if you’re a shooter my man? How about I just sit and you take what moves you. All bases are covered in the Hippy Judges Chambers Baby!"

"Before I get to explaining a few simple rules we live by when courts in session and in private. You must know our Tommy Gun Thomas is freaking out over your world renown fetish for Sweet Wet Youngish Wet Blond Pussy Sir (SWYBP). Tommy is a Porno collector like nobody knows. He thinks your some kind of Misanthropic knuckle dragging Satyr sort of fellow I’m afraid."

"Lets let Tommy Gun alone for now. Its getting late you were kind enough to drop by and ease my blindness on court etiquette! Please you have the floor Sir."

"We never hold grudges over dissents or tough cases where emotions are sure to flare. It is important we shake hands and become neutral again before the next case. It has to be that way. After the written opinion phase is finished it is on to the next case smiling and neutral, no baggage carried here. Here General Quill remember this rule, "Tomorrow Is Another Day".

"Holding grudges not my strong suit Steven, my gut feeling about several of my now fellow Justices are not good! But, my love for this country will prevail. This is a life time job, till death does us all part. It is like being in a family with many members who test you constantly push the buttons. In my beloved Marine Corp rule number one, " Never charge anything with your mouth your ass can’t cash ! " kinda like the universal do unto others law Steven. Simple to grasp that brand of knuckle dragging morality my friend.”

"Perhaps we understand each other Sir."

"This conversation reminds me of my old Hippy God Pal Timmy Leary (another killer Timmy- Go 2011 Giants Baby!) His Book manifesto of the sublime existence, "Psychedelic Prayers" states my life long Philosophy in Timmy’s "lesson Of The Seed" translation from the mighty Tao Te Ching.

"Fish should be left in deep water Fire and Iron kept underground Seed should be left free to grow In the rhythm of life..."

  Timothy Leary, Immortal

  Justice Quill stands and walks still with easy grace of man who has walked many miles over to the newly installed high security digital/laser/retina recognizing system protecting his most valuable painting Girogio de Chirico’s stunning pre Surrealist tour de force. A painting that pointed Dali toward his brand of surrealist dream works, The Uncertainty Of The Poet.

"Before you bounce Justice Breyer, I wonder if you might see the poetic metaphor dripping off this fucking fifty million dollar dream painting my friend. It surely is our lady of Justice and her broken scale reduced to a bunch of fucking Banana’s. Adios my friend..."

"Your life Sir eclipses that of many historic warrior/scholar/crazy men I have studied. All of them riddled with ambiguities difficult for hapless mortals to understand. You and your friends the Dali Lama, General Parker, Keith Richards, and the whole dead blues old school San Francisco crew, live the same life ancient warrior General’s lived like Napoleon in France, Castro in Cuba, Che G, and a host of others such as the great Alexandra. These men all carried baggage like you appear to posses Sir."

"Don’t ever fucking sell Castro short my friend, that is and always will be one bad motherfucker Hombre’ number one in my fucking Book! That man has always been and idol. Now as for General’s I like or would like to be considered with! First, Hannibal and his ancient elephants in the hard winter march fucking excellent, or Teddy Roosevelt with a hand full of back alley street fighters takes on a fucking army? Or my contemporary Idol Marine General Midas or Mad Dog Midas as he is known by his boys. Favorite Mad Dog quote, " It’s fun to shoot some people! I’ll be right up front with you, I like brawling..." That my friend is fucking Immorta.l Chesty Puller (most famous of all Marines living or Dead) Or Pistol Pete Mc Closkey California Irish bad Ass (led six fucking bayonet charges in Korea Son, six fucking long blade old school fucking Samurai shit Pal. Now me own exploits as the Boy Marine in Vietnam are well documented, case closed on my Marine fucking roots hey Steve. Let it be said here now my new friedn I was also what is called a Brig Marine, I did many months of Hard Time for offences like AWOL. No angel, never was."

"Before I bid you adieu General Quill, I suggest in your studies of this Court you take time consider Chief Justice Taft he was the only President to serve on the court. He was the power behind creating this building a major feat my friend! He was obsessed even choose the architect a wonderful story. Off to my late nite regimen Quill not quite as exotic as your’s and Timba’s. Hot tea and late nite news."

  Quill picks up Timba and his Blues Harp and begins a slow warm up with an old Steve Miller song, : Do, Do, Do, Do Living In The U.S.A. " . The atmosphere becomes smoky and suddenly smells like the Hashish Den on 10000 Raja Ave. Morocco , It is non other then Quill’s most notorious Dead Buddy 666 Aleister Crowley hisself with a wide smile on that demented face...

"Well, well, well, this huge fucking edifice reminds me of old Morocco after 3Am Quill. Remember when I took you to my main geek Benwahs Hashish Parlor on Sateen Street Mr. Junior Justassssssssss! You wearing the traditional Burnous we stopped and we joined in dancing with group of crazed Whirling Dervishes twirling and chanting for hour’s endless ragas and giant Bong Hits, ahhhh the good old days hey Quill?"

"Oh yeah, I recall that high end Whore House on Yuba Street next to the Nunnery I used to love fucking and eating those young Virgin whores in training while they screamed in extesy and I watched the young Nun’s masturbating as I banged away. Wonderful sweet memories my best Dead friend. By the by Laddy my best mortal life friend Detective (Hard Ball!) Gary Hunter was just killed trying to stop a bad drug deal in San Francisco. Please bring him with you next time you appear out of nowhere 6666."


"Quill got your main fucking man fresh from the fucked up mortal existence right here next to me Dude, you ready to speak with Brother Detective Hunter?"

"First my oldest dearest Pal, it ain’t so bad here in this liquid dimension. Kinda like an eternal acid trip while standing at the Fillmore West listening to Howling Wolf & Muddy Waters my friend. I know your missing me, shit almost all your friends are Dead Buddy. Guess you know your time is, Hell never mind, keep rocking, blowing that Blues Harp and eating as much Young Blond Wet Sticky Pussssssy (YBWSP) as you can man. Looking down that train track, don’t see your coach coming quite yet!"

"You bring me right back to San Francisco State University circa early 1970s, taking a class called, " The Door’s of Perception and Heaven and Hell " Aldous Huxley and all that ancient Surrealist Bullshit.. I was finger fucking this sweet little thang I met in Ballet Class. And shaboom the Professor catches a whiff of that soaking wet sweet 18 year old Pussssy and gave me this evil mother fucking stare, his mouth quivering trying to discuss opening the fucking Doors of Perception. I guess I had showed him another Door to open Baby......"




Read about Fletcher Quill in earlier chapters:

1  2  3  4  5  6  7  8  9  10  11
12 13  14  15  16  17  18  19  20
21 22  23  24  25  26  27  28  29
30 31  32  33  34  35  36  37  38
39 40  41  42  43  44  45  46  47
48  49  50  51  52  53  54  55  56
57  58  59  60  61  62  63  64  65
66  67  68  69  70  71  72  73  74
75  76  77  78  79  80  81  82  83
84  85  86  87  88  89  90  91  92
93  94  95  96  97  98  99  100  101


Written by Dan Fallon 2010
Illustrations by Phil Frank © 2003
Photos by Dan Fallon © 2010

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