There can be no more damning evidence of my total neglect of this blog than the fact that I haven't posted a photo bin since May. May, for God's sake! And it's not like it's a difficult thing to do. Dump the cameras, pick a couple of shots that I haven't used in real posts (like I've done any real posts lately), and tell its story. Easy. It's ridiculous that it's taken this long.
In my defense... Oh hell. There is no defense. Let's just go back and catch up. Start, here, with June. Maybe July in a couple of days. Then it's practically time for August. How time flies.
The cornerstone of June, the event from which most of the images that were dumped from the camera documented, was our excursion into Saskatchewan. For all the great fishing and weather and adventure, one of my companions summed it up best by saying "The highlight of the trip was the company and we brought that ourselves." So since my most stringent critic, my wife, always comments that I don't show enough people in my pictures, this month's bin is dedicated to my fellow travelers, shown above, looking like they're having a getting-the-band-back-togther moment. From left to right, Kris Kringle, Dirty Steve, and Captain Kirk. Couldn't have asked for a better lot.
A prettier one, yes. But not a better one.
I'd fish the world with Mr. Kringle, and have already put a lot of miles on the fishing odometer (not to mention a stamp or two in the passport) in his good company. This tarmac shot sums him up pretty well. Ready to go anywhere with a smile and a friendly swagger. No worries, mon, we're gonna have a good time whatever they throw at us. We usually do.
Then there's Dirty Steve.
I suppose that this is as good a time as any to talk about these nicknames.
With a constantly rotating lodge full of fisherfolk, the staff has to figure out a way to remember everyone's name. Hell, I have trouble remembering my own, now and then, much less a group of sixteen strangers. The crew at the Arctic resorts to nicknames. Shaylynn and D do the honors and have fun with it. "Kris Kringle" was easy, the jolly old elf, beard and all. The obvious choice for Chris Hunt. And I'm sure that he liked it, envisioning good little girls (and bad, oh yes, especially the bad) sitting on his lap.
So how was it that Stephen Zakur ended up as Dirty Steve? Mr. Kringle, again, is probably to blame. A nickname like that has his fingerprints all over it. And he was at the dinner table before us when it all got started so Dirty Steve never had a chance. Zakur took it in stride, though. Maybe even enjoyed it a little.
Seems that most of the pictures I have of Steve this trip are grip-and-grins. It's probably because he caught fish all week long. I smoked him the first day (he's still pissed about that, and for good reason, but that's a story for another time) but the rest of the week he put more pike in the boats than any of us, by a lot. Every time I turned around he was happily chomping on that damn cigar and hauling in another. Good times.
He needs to go ahead and retire so we can do this more.
Finally, there's the Captain. Captain Kirk. Kirk Deeter. He knew that nickname was coming and I could see him wince as it arrived. I wonder if he hates Start Trek for what it's done to him.
I've spent lots of time on the water with Chris and with Steve, but this was my first time out with Mr. Deeter and it was a treat. He tolerated my trying to pick his brain about this whole fly fishing writing thing, though we spent more time discussing music and futball and a myriad of other topics we found in common.
A quiet sort, Kirk is, but he kept us in stitches each night as we slipped off to sleep in our summer camp bunkhouse. Sharing a one room cabin with these three guys was a gas.
I look forward to doing it a lot more.
There you have it. The band, and a fine one it was. Kris and The Captain and Dirty Steve. As I said earlier, I couldn't have asked for better.
What's that you ask? My nickname?
It's not important.
What is a Photo Bin?
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