40 miles out

Got the above sticker at a wine fest a few years back. Didn't think to pull it out 'til now. Saturday had me venturing out with cousin, sorta-cousin, and dad for an adventure 40 miles out. Cousin has a tuna boat, and invited me along for a celebratory trip in honor of pop's birthday.

Pardon the lame Go Pro footage; the sea was rough. Really rough. 10 foot swells coming from all directions. My first time with sea sickness, and I've worked on the ocean in many capacities. Brutal...like hangover spins coupled with an anxiety attack.  All made worse by the bad new country music played at high volume on cousin's speakers. Some song about John Wayne, Johnny Cash, and John Deere sent me to the rails.

Tuna fishing requires each person to be set up for jigging, swimbaits, and trolling.  Hence, many a rod atop this peacock boat.

But, then there's the reward. Enough fish for a year. And the growler station had a rare tap of Boneyard's imperial CDA. The taste...amazing. The fishing...like tying a line to an out of control semi truck. And check out that pint glass.  It was given out at OR a few years back.  Petzl teamed up with Osprey packs and hosted a beer event.  Good times.

Why Hill Billy

The last locale featured a dirty bass river reeking of ag runoff and decay. As does the new place; the difference, though, is that the Yamhill county river is devoid of humans and more approachable for the angler. The smallmouth are plentiful but medium in size. Picky they are, though. The lure of choice is atypical and only proven on Montana trout streams. Still...it worked.

The foot bridge was rickety but cool. Bored teenagers seem to make up the traversing populace.

Shade and finesse are key. Absolutely stoked to find this neighborhood gem.

The hobo succulent

Digging 'neath the tomato patch, I uncovered a strange plant that was unlike the usual weeds N detritus. A succulent, perhaps? But how? We did buy the tomatoes at the feed store...late in season and at a discount. Perhaps their soil got blessed with something extra?

Given that OAQ Jr. is enthralled with desert plants, I dug it up and planted it. 'Tis now in the greenhouse with the rest of the fleshy drought-loving plants. Anyone know what it is?

Drink whiskey; make hobo music.

That there is a relic rescued from a flooded house. An ancient student banjo now strung in tri-tar fashion. B-F#-B. A mix of nylon and steel strings. Gonna build a stomp box and make it official. With Canadian blended, this thing completes Ranger Station chill time.

Something powerful soon come! The weather has been spastic and mean; thunder appears to be on tonight's menu. Perhaps...no stomp box needed. Nature shall provide the booms.

Green grow the rushes, go!

Blistered pepper plants and stunted tomatoes, but not a bad start for a mid-June debut. Timing was not in our favor, but escrow  brought those blues. A coworker had an unexpected move and our tidy garden is disrupted by plants she didn't want to leave abandoned. Happy - stoked, even - to have them. Multiple peppers and a lone, yet fruiting tomatillo now sit among the flock.

Gratuitous view shot; the thunder never came, but the sky show was not lacking. The mercury tickled 100 today, and the air was thick. Miserable conditions bring about beauty, it seems.

My favorite rose decided to kick out the jams and bring us another round. Anyone know what varietal this is? On a huge vintage R.E.M. kick lately; the title song can be found in this epic 1985 live set...19 minutes and change.

Fishin takes all?

Interesting Blogger phenomenon - posts about plants N gophers pale in comparison to those surrounding kayak fishin'. The stats graph spiked. Maybe ya'all fancy some Tupperware-centered angling. Here's another shot from Siletz. Those mountains are more glorious in person, I swear.

Further reading had me realizing that Ken's novel,  Sometimes A Great Notion, led to a movie filmed here. There's even a fishin' hole called the Movie House. It's where they filmed the show, and is now pretty dilapidated.  I've been long meaning to watch that flick. Or read the book.  But, between gophercide and gardening, and random trips to the sea, time has been short.

The drive back from Siletz was fueled by a radio program that made me reach for an old envelope and pen. Jot stuff down, I did! A public radio show featured an artist so profound that I had to slow down and scribe a name. Possessed by Paul James. No hyperlink - that kills timelessness, doesn't it? Look him up. Please. Stompbox, multiple instruments, soul...so much soul.

Changing bays

Moving to wine country dictated a change in fishin' bays. Tillamook has been exchanged for the one south of Lincoln - an area rife with strip malls, meth heads, and kite N taffy shops. After driving through the gaudiness, I stumbled upon a private marina. The owner charges a steep launch fee, but gave this kayaker a break. Surly and opinionated beyond the usual coastal status quo, the old man was also willing to give up a little intel. The sea run cutthroat run is in full swing, and the cantankerous one - despite his disbelief that I was targeting trout over salmon - pointed out a few holes.

Said holes, though, offered little beyond a smattering of juveniles.

The going was windy and against the tidal flow. Perhaps this isn't a fair trade for Tillamook. Time will tell.

Scenic, it is, though; if the wind ever pipes down, there exists potential. Viewed today: my first green heron, a doe and speckled fawn, and ten plus white egrets. Also, two sculpins were caught. Despite their small size, these spiny creatures are formidable fighters. A return is warranted; I should develop a palate for bubble gum flavored taffy.

Choking gophers

Artichokes watching the moon take flight. National Night Out elsewhere; wine and gopher stalking here...

The numbers have thinned, but Big Daddy remains. Elusive little thing...he knows that it's gotten serious. About to consult Mr. Murray.

County fair

The county fair is upon us, and it lived up to all expectations. Pictured above is a covered wagon belonging to a coworker's 4H group. They take it for lengthy camping trips and teach kids various lost pioneer arts.

This guy, despite his baby-soft nose, remained suspicious of my photographic intentions.

The fair visit was short, and thus allowed some time devoted to working on the ranger station's percussion corner. Stoked to make a space for drumming.