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Av troback · Publicerat
Blev så inspirerad att jag fick testa en egen variant...foam-raketen -
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Av Muzze1901 · Publicerat
Listar min kusins flugset då han inte är medlem i gruppen. Guideline Elevation 906-4. Superskick! 1600kr plus frakt. Lamson Speedster S 6-8 i gott använt skick inklusive backing. 1800kr Guideline Bullet #6 i nyskick. 550kr Frakt tillkommer. -
Av Ismo · Publicerat
Visst är han duktig!!..lovordar honom varje gång..Nya genartionen. ENKEKLT!!! -
Av jakobj · Publicerat
Inte många har den där förmågan att binda flugor som gör att jag verkligen hajar till. Men Bobbilon lyckas hela tiden! En otrolig förmåga att sätta proportioner, färger och former till flugor som inte bara är vackra utan också extremt fina fiskeflugor. Väldigt ovanligt! Morten Öland är den andre jag tycker har samma förmåga. Tack för att du visar upp dina flugor Bobbilon. Som jag ser det så är det en klass man ytterst sällan ser och det ger inspiration. 😃 -
Av T-bum · Publicerat
Now and then. Not now, and then then. But now and then. Again and again. Looking back this evening. Windy so we close the season making camp coffee while looking at the sunset and the migration birds hitching rides with the storm. We chew about for several hours. A lot of memories over the last ten years - a lot of things spoken never voiced before. We agree that after about two weeks your gear can't get any more disgusting. I really need to get out of the Safaris and the fatigues. Fly fishing groupies are also reflected upon. Bizarre stories. All true. We made the fireplace out of black flint stones, mainly. It is, for some reason or the other the dominant rock here. Not the gray, brown and redish hues you find further up north - but pitch black. The heart of darkness. Kali and Durga. After about half an hour thet start splitting and cracking. I pick up a wafer thin slice as a memento - all while laughing at 'Yxan' who has managed to scold his hand twice on the coffee pot and once on the chard of flint. I laugh my ass off and holler - 'Dear sir - I just don't get how a lint brain like yourself can a: - make a career in finance not to mention b: - become an acceptable trout stalker... Seriously dude - how many times can a person burn himself without getting that metall in fire becomes hot... fakken retard...' I shake my head, in mocking despair. I go - 'Ja. bru... I remembah my ferst day on the watta...', laying on the süd-accent heavily. Light the pipe. 'Chibulli?' 'Pop!' goes the weasel. Some photos taken. Some phots lost and found. Now and then. Again and agin. Then - all Simms, head shaved, Oakleys and Korkers. A stroke faster than fuck. A trout in great shape. When small men cast long shadows darkness is not far away. Or - it is just shy of sunrise... In this case both... Strannabacken/revet April 2018 - I was fit as fuck after close to two months fishing straight... little did I know that I four months later would be completely incapacitated and out of it for 2 seasons... A river runs by nearby. And on special occasions it punches straight through. Not tonight, though. But I remain haunted by waters in general and the reef specifically... Now - all Filson, M/59s and second hand. Coffee on fire in Kockums cast iron. Crazy winds. Rod brought was a Loomis GL2 10' moderate 3/4 oz steelhead rod with a Calcutta 50. 25 year old waders with a pair of cheap-ass Visions as second inner layer. Rods are slower - the Meridian 6wt and Radian 6wt have been traded for two Thomas & Thomas - Exocett and Avantt II respectively. Reels are back to basics - old schools from ABU and Loop Graphite. They say turning 50 implies 'no more fast rods, white underwear and #20 gnats'. Whatever... I'm still able to refrain from pissing myself even when fishing hypothermic frigids for extended periods of time. I can still whip a 6wt faster than most. I just can't do it like I used to. Day in. Day out. I do agree about the gnats, though... They fucking suck. This morning I hit the water at 04:30 - about an hour shy of sunrise. The #6 F314 and Stroft .35 worked its respective magic. I got the little fucker threaded on the third attempt... No glasses or lighting involved - just seasoned fingers, stiff tippet and a reasonably sized eyelet... Two small ones and the first gar. A river runs by nearby. And on special occasions it punches straight through. Not tonight, though. But I remain haunted by waters in general and by the reef specifically... not now and then. Now as well as then Then... Back in -18 this was our theme song - in some ways it still is. I guess. We haven't really spoken about the state of society post pandemic. We just take it for granted these days. Everything change constantly on the reef. Only three remain constant. The solace, the stones and the mesmerization induced by the place. It truly haunts me. We pack up as it gets dark. Pur what remains of the water bottles over what remains of the fire, splitting what remains of the flint... I drive home. Drop the dog off, ditch the car and hit the waterhole. Talk to the crew for a bit and get a Dark & Cloudy mixed - dark spiced rum, real colonial ginger beer (imported), lime and ice - in a normal beer glas - seriously... A tall drink is supposed to be made in a glass > 450ml. It tastes just as it should. Some douche walks up to me. Really close. He is staring me in the eyes from a distance of approx. 1'...I stare him down - voice low and steady - 'yeah bruh... can I help you with something?' I smell him - he reeks of cheep beer... I shift the drink to my right hand (south paw) - and shift my position slightly outward from the bar for some space - left arm cocked and ready to go... Aim set exactly for the point where the nose and the eyes intersect... I have enough space to move and I'm set for action should need be... He goes - 'I really like your hat... Can I touch it?' Without flinching or dropping the stare I go: 'Chrissake dude - for your sake... I'm glad you asked before... but no - I'm convinced that that would be a really - and I really mean really really- bad idea...' Finally the pennies (plural intentional) drop and the douche makes himself scarce. Fucking society. I feeI Kali go back to bed in my left arm, but my mood is gone. I chug the remainder of the contents, make an 'exeunt' and walk home while smoking dry sift mixed with half a livarde in a corncob (Meershaum nugget - found second hand but brand new). What is the major malfunction with people? “It is no measure of health to be well adjusted to a profoundly sick society." - Jiddu Krishnamurti -
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