|Column nr. 9 2010|
The civilized world is bombarded with Australia’s commercialism from tossing a shrimp on the Barbe to Hulk Hogan and what’s her name Tommy (has been?) Cruse’s X squeeze?. Not much is mentioned in regard to the incredible fly fishing opportunities from the great reef, deep off shore ocean and special game fish nurseries like the famed Gulf Of Carpentaria. Over 50 species of game fish dwell within over 120,000 square miles of remote fly fishable waters. One can hunt the killing machine Barramundi, track schools of Tuna in shallow waters only 10 meters deep! Fly fishers can test their strength while screaming reels hail the arrival of trophy Queen Fish.
A word of caution fellow fly fisher’s this trip about 17 hours if started in North America is a hardcore fly fisher experience on par with Alaska or Africa! In order to work these remote waters in comfort, safety, and high style. A mother ship will be your base camp and most days will be guided on small craft that can ply the estuaries, smaller coves, shallow waters.
Captain Greg Bethune greets all fly fishers at Barmaga after a scenic 2 hour flight from Cairns NorthQueensland. This staging area is the last civilization one will see the entire week as life on the Mother Ship base camp takes care of every detail. Guides take guests on small boats attached to the mother ship and work the shallows for voracious schools of Tuna. If your quest is remote unlimited serious arm twisting action with a list of very happy recent clients?
This may be your wild card fly adventure at the bottom of the world. Recent guests attest to many early afternoons exhausted from endless hook ups with wild healthy seldom disturbed schools of fly fisher dreams come true! Recent guests report 1st class meals and a crew that understands fly fishers of all skill levels. If Australia and its mysteries stimulate your adventure spirit? What better way to educate, travel, fly fish and witness wilderness seldom seen by outsiders. One aspect of this fly adventure that is very compelling, the amount of species and the almost non stop action! Contact > 800-669-3474
"ADVENTURES OF FLETCHER QUILL"
"I was in a printing house in Hell, and saw
His Supreme Unadulterated Lowness (SUL) leader of the Socialist States Of America is securely strapped into his personal Marine One Helicopter along with his new BFF Justice Fletcher Quill. Enough fly fishing, camping gear and supplies are stowed for at least a month stay in Yosemite National Park’s rarely visited north country. Three camping qualified Secret Service Agents all female are on board along with Quill’s long time best Pal General Duke Parker. Parker made certain a fine supply of both LSD and fresh Graftganistany Hashish are stowed with the Football! (Football code slang for nuclear launch codes). Lake Benson usually unmolested other then occasional deep woods horse back riders is home to large population of Rainbow and the very rare elusive Golden trout.
Parker and Quill are in the back seats messing with the SS chicks and rolling fat boys while Quill rips through several Blues Classics including Al Bell A.K.A. Albert Collins "Too many dirty dishes" and his signature "Iceman". His Harp sounds great in the chopper confines. The Boy Pres has requested Buddy Guy’s "I had a dream last night" and "Sweet little Angel". The chopper has moved well away from the Farm’s roof tops. A group of nurses waves good by as the Think Tank Tower fades and the Sierra Nevada foot hills begin to excite, the eggbeater heads due south east toward Yosemite Park.
"Hey Pilgrim you still roll killer fatties, light this bad boy while I speak at your still drugged out Boy Pres."
"Excuse me your Lowness, saw the latest poll numbers congrats you and your Sarah Palin fed pack of straw dawgs are lower then whale shit! More unemployed and an economy that needs David Copperfield. Soooo all the Banks you bailed ain’t lending a fucking dime to anyone, growth rate of about 1% or less, and a pack of republican jack ass’s with no ideas either. Tiger Woods can’t find his game, and you my Chicago back alley Lexus salesmen better not plant anymore vegetable gardens cause a second term will be harder to nail then Lindsey Lohan at a lady Ga Ga Concert!"
"Quill what the fuck is this the Spanish freaken inquisition over here ? The truth is the country was in a nose dive and the shaky Hands of friggin fate throws me the sword to dive on! From day one the Banks, Fall Street, economic certain doom, and two jive ass war’s going nowhere quick. Houdini, Wizard of Oz and the fucking tooth Faire couldn’t stop the avalanche of everything that was and ain’t no more!"
"Now that is why we are heading for the deep sweet Yosemite north woods Sonny Boy, you need to get your mind readjusted to changing realities moving faster then the Dali lama’s genacided doomed Kingdom. You nominated me for the absolute worst place to implant a crazy ass Irish Marine among cold dead spoiled fish wearing purple robes atop the mountain uh huh, sha dooby, boom shaka laka."
"Do that Willy Dixon soft scream thing at the end of "Hoochie Coochie Man" love that Willy D.! How much time did you spend in my Chicago back alley hard down low blues ATM’s honky Irishman?"
"Long enough for Charlie Musselwhite, Paul Butterfield, Keith Richards, Buddy Guy, James Cotton, Little Walter, Junior Wells, Carey Bell, Homesick James, and my main man Albert Collins to educate me light my fire brother, opened my eyes when Little Walter showed me what Blues Harp playing is all about. Then a long time with John Lee Hooker back at the Fillmore West sealed my fate as a dirty Irish Blues loving white boy... Dukster lighten up on the tighten up on my new main man Jarhead, he’s still got training wheels on running that pesky Blackhouse."
"Justice Quill hate to get off message, man I love getting off fucking message. Being Boy President is like being the new host of Price Is Right, every swinging dick and sticky clit has to have that next answer or its adisosky dipshit. In regard to that human petting zoo you call your boyhood crib. Do we really need to authoratate and therefore sanction a bunch of degenerated friggin Deviate Behaviorists, Rear Admirals, Astronauts? (DBRA) So why not go first with that nasty canyon yodeling old cunt Gertrude Stein who told the boyish 25 year old Erne Hemingway, What lesbian woman do to each other is rather poetic and not nasty and evil and ugly and pathetic like the degenerate boys sticking each others Johnson’s where the sun don’t shine, sick, sick, ugly and against mother nature!"
"How many more of these killer dry fly mosquitos can I possibly tie in my present highly medicated state GenerlismoJustass Quill?"
"Nice tying Dukester, we are going to need a mess of Pale Morning Dun’s and twenty each Black Matuka’s, Red Copper John’s, San Juan Worm’s with the Mosquitos will get us started. Late season hatches are always a surprise in the deep unmolested woods. We will be coming up on the Park Border South entrance near Mariposa my old home during the Cowboy Poet days. Lake Benson is one of the many rarely fished lakes that dot the north end of the Park. Several days with pack horses is the only way in unless your VIP helicoptered in by Park officials or the X Secretary of State hey boys, oh yeah almost forgot about the Boy Pres, excuse me..."
"Gentlemen the pilot says we will get a sun rise visual of the lake in twenty two minutes. Lets drop another Orange Barrel and string up the fly rods as trout will be rising with the morning sun. waders can be worn or we can float tube depending? Girls get the camp stove, fire, breakfast happening and join us on the lake, I heard your all Montana girls from fly fishing country. The Black Messiah has special tent and all needs worked out."
His Supreme lowness Unloads
You fucking Jarhead Career killer Marines slay me. Now lets talk history from the Peloponnesian slaughter fields in ancient times, horrendous Chinese and Japanese atrocities, long periods of so called justifiable genocide slaughter campaigns common through out human history. Then we get up to the British Empire (The old Sun has set baby!) and the mass slaughters perpetuated by so-called manifest destiny Imperialism world domination. And we hang a left turn into contemporary warriors in north American history hey bad boys? How about that fucking General Custer and his band of child, old people, killers? According to Joe M. Marshall’s Book "The day The world Ended At Little Bighorn", Two woman and a girl the first casualties of the Battle of the Little Bighorn. You both have seen and done whatever it took to get the job done right Cowboys, whatever it takes sha-dooby, Boom, Boom, Boom-Do Wa - Ditty-My baby took the caddy and left me the Mule to ride..."
"That’s the Graftganistany and the LSD talking hey Dukey? Our boy is trippin. Let him use your night vision helmet so he can watch us catch breakfast as the Yosemite morning sun and a million song birds greet this insane fly fishing party."
As the Marine Chopper descends on a small meadow next to an area perfect for pitching tents, Brook Trout and fat Bow’s are jumping in all directions. Quill & Parker dressed in waders each walk about a hundred yards away from each other and begin from shore working the rising fish closest to shore. Each man has a three weight Bamboo with 7 feet of light tippet and a #18 Mosquito. Every cast a hit or hook up one after another for two hour’s, most fish around 10-14 inches accessional fat 22-26 inchers, sublime....
"Man, smell that Yosemite clean air! Never caught so many so quick quill, how many times have you camped out here?"
"First time as a boy on Pack Horses quite a ride, caught as many then as well. This is Bear country and as you can see squirrels, birds, deer, nothing afraid of humans caus they don’t see very many out here.. We better check on the Boy Pres."
Before both most contented fly fishers leave the lakes edge morning
bright sun light blinds briefly and suddenly a man wearing an ancient
Campaign Hat and judpers, mounted on a hot blooded war horse 18 hands
high confront and begin conversation.<
Well, well, well, what do I have here? Two mortal old warriors come to commune with my deep woods lords and healing spirits. Course you know first hand all about our little invisible spirit friends don’t you Justice Quill? Our shiny new Boy President thinks your looking to unseat him old man! This place reminds me of the hour’s before me and the boys took San Juan Hill, glad I fought so hard to keep these wild areas wild! Course some of my boys may have gone a little blood thirsty in the madness of war, which is why they used all kinds of courage builders before lead starts flying. Opium, booze, whatever worked hey General Quill. Came by to let you two old back alley brawlers know the Hand Of Fate and her sisters Chaos and Blind Luck ain’t quit through throwing down. Your two bullshit wars are about over, then the whole shit house goes up in smoke! Thirst for oil and continued subliminal world domination goes sour as domestic economics keep going south faster then your Hash Stash. Appears to me boys like you will dictate how effective America’s Global Cop stance holds up? If I were you I would tie up a mess of the old tried and true Pale Morning Dun’s, they work best out here on sweet remote Lake Benson.
Time for healing and reflecting - Boy President in repose licking his wounds
Read about Fletcher Quill in earlier chapters:
1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11
Written by Dan Fallon © 2010
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