Archive for the 1 Category

Burkheimer 7134

Posted in burkheimer gear, Fish Shit, shooooot, spey fishing, spey slam with tags on August 18, 2012 by heavymetalspey

A week from today I have my calendar filled with the words “River day with Dec” and I wanted to have this cannon with me. Big thanks to Chris from Burkheimer for dialing me in. If you want something made, bring a half gallon of Captain Morgans and talk it over. His work speaks for itself and the dude knows a thing or two about rod action. This 7134 is jet black, blacker than the blackest black times infinity. blackened nickle reel hardware, blackened nickle line guides and a spalted maple reel seat and some of the finest cork this side of a whiskey bottle’s prison door.. ridiculous. A bit off topic, I sometimes get the responses when I show it to someone or say something about them on the internet, the responses range from “it should be able to cast itself for that price” to “beautiful rod, I’d be afraid to walk it through the woods”. So check it out, These aren’t rods for everyone (although if everyone had an hour to cast one, that would probably change) they are expensive and they are heirloom quality. The fact is, steelhead fishing isn’t the most breakneck sport in the world, the lulls are often, which makes the highs that much higher but when you are spending so much time casting and watching the goddamn birds fly, it’s nice to look down and see that real heart and soul was put into something like this. Pride of ownership plays a role, we are a passionate group. Besides the fact that they are, in my opinion one of the nicest rods to fish and cast.

Cast a 480 scandi on it today- pretty silky.






High on fire’s worm mysteries.

Posted in Music Shit, shit, shooooot with tags on April 18, 2012 by heavymetalspey


Kiss your eardrums goodbye.
Full review to follow….

The wretch

Posted in Booze Shit, Bullshit shit, hey bud, go fuck yourself., Music Shit, shooooot on January 21, 2012 by heavymetalspey


Real American fucking doom. By far this is the band’s best and most prolific album to date. Filled with songs made for crashing horses and swords to. One night this winter, I poured myself what was planned to be a single whiskey and set into motion a chain of events that were a direct result of this album’s immense stature. Listen with caution….

Helping the man get rich

Posted in 1 on July 31, 2010 by heavymetalspey

Man I’ve been busy, between work working me and trying to deal with a new 4 legged bird hunting sonofabitch I haven’t had the time to swing for anything other than the occasional whiskey. I gotta get my skunk ass to the water, push the boat in, ram some tubers and float down to some summer runners. Been listening to the steeldrivers new album, man that stuff makes me feel like I’m fishing even when I’m not. Remember, you heard about them from me. Yeah, your welcome.

O.G. type shit: old smallmouth by young largemouth

Posted in 1, Fish Shit on May 3, 2010 by heavymetalspey

check out that “fishing the west” hat- goddamn even then, i knew what was up. we used to kick the shit outta those poor guys.

old boy

Posted in 1, Bullshit shit, hey bud, go fuck yourself., shit the bed in fear on March 29, 2010 by heavymetalspey

good morning? goodnight? since i was young enough to remember i have never felt complete- perhaps a bit condescending but the truth lies here like a rug. I, even as a young boy have lived with a certain level of guilt-for what i know not but again, the rug fills the room. i have always thought of myself as a bit of a sociable introvert, if such a thing is, i am.  “worry wort” as my beautiful grandmother used to say and a solidified prick under the right lights.  i revel in the thought of my friends laughing about things said and the fury of half witted whole hearted stupidity that i may bring. the plight of mans current interests never really brought any of my blood to the surface, as i type on a laptop computer and check the time on my blackberry… i waver in my thoughts and i digress, my worrying has at one time or another had a stranglehold on my thoughts. i have always felt tied down to something and i drag, whether it be my heart, brain or my feet. my idealistic life would be…unknown. A thought that brings a real fear to my chest and a rush of time’s realness to head. Perhaps some lives weren’t destined to be decided in a class room or upon the puppy love of another. regardless the thought that the story of my life in words is being written nanoseconds before i make my next fumbling judgment is frightening yet endearing. I have acquaintances that were wed moments after their eligibility to legally purchase nicotine came and some who i think the nicotine may take into the ground before they truly hold the hand of another. lives lived, who am i to judge. the young boy so full of plans for life that were smashed against the dashboard courtesy of a inebriated driver heading the opposite way to the near ancient man employing his standing death bed full time after a life of broken promises and bottles. a young girl looking for acceptance giving in and mothering multiple children out of bodily pleasures to the only sister of eleven to never find love. so many people, so many different people.  there in lies the cruel beauty of life, being in the fact that nothing is promised, little given, so much taken.  I don’t request answers for what i will do in a decade, only the hope that i will be…full. full of life, full of love,  full of..fucking dinner. To pry is to push while not pushing is remaining stagnant. fill your glass and open your eyes, no reason to worry. we balance on the hands of a clock that runs on borrowed time. hope like hell while wishing for heaven.

birth at the funeral

Posted in 1 on March 29, 2010 by heavymetalspey

My chest ticks in metronomic time with my head.

i always thought the view from a sight like this would feel different, the suits of family a bit too small for the fact that these aren’t the suits worn every week. the young boys pull at their ties and the young girls stare at the muddy earth. my idea of these things filled with black umbrellas and black veils over the faces of the women, a bit pretentious. the Hearst looming along the entrance to the field of bodies like a black horse, resting from the journey of delivering this husk of a man to his final lay. I cant feel my hands which for the first time is fine, they aren’t needed for anything. the outstretched hands of barely known uncles, nephews and grandfathers offering their interpretation of console while their female counterparts wince and offer kisses on the cheek and back-pats somehow distance myself more from them than anything. the dew laden grasses, the sway of trees, stray tissues bounce across the street accompanied by autumns golden leaves, god has a truly unique outlook on death and for the moment, it isn’t shared. Eye contact seems futile, the headstone engraved with words chosen by someone else. for a moment i picture a giant spike erupting out of the earth and growing continually until it touches the sun then sucking itself back into the earth.  the last time i saw him he sat in a wicker chair on the front porch of that house, the one he was born in. his boots covered in dust, his cigarette ashes forming a mound beside him, the sound that came pushing out of his throat every time before he laughed,  the way he used ‘goddamned’ so well. i remember thinking how much he looked like i had imagined he would when i was young. He told me “one day, you’ll figure shit out”.