The following is an article that I wrote for my company's fly fishing magazine. It may or may not get published, but either way, I like it and I wrote it. It's kind of a foreshadowing of a trip back home I was taking the next morning. Not everything that I touched on in the article happened on the trip, but it either has or it will. And yes, I jinxed us. ********************************** A few years back there was this Nike commercial that showed folks waking up entirely too early to go running, with AC/DC’s “Rock and Roll Ain’t Noise Pollution” as the 30 second soundtrack. I don’t run. Not even if someone’s chasing me. There are only two things worth waking up at a ridiculous a.m. hour for, and that’s fishing and barbecuing. And yes, “Rock and Roll Ain’t Noise Pollution” starts off both of those activities very well. Tomorrow morning my alarm clock will wake me at 3 o’clock in the morning. I’ll then drive my groggy ass to Denver International Airport to catch a 5:30 am flight to Missouri, where after a few hours of planes, trains, and automobiles, I’ll arrive at the North Fork of the White River. Missouri...that’s where I’m from. That’s also where I’ll meet up with several old friends and my pop to...you guessed it, fish and barbecue. The boys will be bringing the smoker, which will more than likely just live in the bed of a pick-up truck during our four-day excursion. Another early alarm clock will be set in order for us to rise before the sun to trim and rub the brisket, let her get to room temperature, and allow our fire to peak at 250 degrees with ample smoke rolling out of the stack. During this process we will ingest several pots of cheap coffee and multiple bloody marys. As we stare at the temperature gauge, an early game of poker will commence and wake the others as the chips get tossed and crash into the pot. “Rock and Roll Ain’t Noise Pollution” will be playing. Smoke’s rolling. The dial is pointing at 250. Everyone’s awake. Time for bacon and eggs. After a greasy breakfast, the washing of the dishes, and some quality library time, those that fish will suit up and walk down to the river. My trustworthy barbecue brethren will stay land-locked, keeping a sharp eye on that fire, feeding it when that needle dips in the least...at least until that sharp eye becomes a little blurry. Although barbecuing is my second favorite thing in this world to do, my first favorite takes precedence and I’ll head down to the river in search of large trout and possibly a rogue striper. It’s okay, I’ll watch the fire when we do ribs tomorrow. I’ve found that trout aren’t as particular about the early a.m. bite as, say, largemouth bass tend to be. So I’m content with a 9am canoe launch. Just need to keep an eye on any possible hatches, but I’ll already be rigged with big, ugly, ridiculous articulated streamers. Maybe wishful thinking. As I push off from the shoal, I’ll be looking for that pick-up truck driving down the hill from the cabin to park on the gravel near the water, meat smoker strapped in tight. Smoke billowing out from the stack, smell of hickory wood and fatty beef mixing in the air with our fried bacon, coffee, and the damn outdoors. Morning sounds of kingfishers, babbling river currents, and AC/DC will fill our ears and make us grin. I can’t speak for the others, but my canoe will be equipped with an 8 weight, a 6 weight, and a 5 weight, as well as a flask filled with brown liquor that lives in the chest pocket of my jacket. One needs to stay warm on a snowy, windy day on the water. I’m sure several fish will come to net, unless I just jinxed us by writing that. At any rate, after my face gets windburnt-red and that casting muscle in my back that I can’t reach starts to bark, I’ll paddle up to our shuttle truck, conveniently parked at an easy take-out and only a 7 minute drive from our cabin. We rendezvous. The brisket just comes off the smoke and is ready to be wrapped in a cozy blanket like a precious little meat baby for 2 to 4 hours and stored in the YETI. That gives us ample time to share fishing stories around the campfire while we break out the good whiskey. Good whiskey is always first, cheap whiskey comes afterwards. Remember that. We unwrap her, let her breathe, and then slice her the way you’re supposed to slice a brisket. Slicing brisket correctly is every bit as important as drinking the good whiskey first. Don’t fuck it up. Slices of fatty or lean, accompanied by beans, slaw, and cornbread create a delicious and substantial foundation for campfire hijinx. When seven friends get together once a year to do as they please, the hijinx can continue into the wee hours of the morning. And generally someone gets hurt. Maturity is an afterthought. The next morning, regardless of how any of us feel, we will wake up early again. Because there is another day to be had filled with fishing and barbecuing. Because there is another bottle of good whiskey. Because our adult responsibilities have been left at home. “Because rock and roll ain’t no riddle, man. To me it makes good, good sense. Good sense, let’s go.” //re:
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AuthorI am Earl. Archives
May 2024
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