Please note the mountain of the Goddess and her seven sisters… Vain, Conceit, Narcissistic, Bitchy, Pride, Beauty, & Superior Or should it be vices????

Hello to all my happy little fishermen friends….

Please note the pathetically shit eating grin on my face. I am at the altar of the Goddess… and my my my what a pretty altar it is. It wasn't too tough to find, I finally found her blessed river where all life flows through and followed its signs. Her sign bearers were the great Grizzlies of the North and they led the way with their gigantic paw prints and smiley faces strewn along the river. While drifting this huge rapid I noted a gigantic pool strewn with ...................................... water a magnificent site (I protesteth I almost revealed too much, a picture is all you get!

We landed my vessel through the giant ...... and noted with joyful glee the ...... strewn .... that lay before us. The size of a ...... field, I picked a rock to stand at not going over my knees and so did Orvis Boy. We began to cast spoons.

What happened afterwards is documented in pictures. The first day we fished we only had 2 hours but hooked and landed fish every 20 minutes. Several were lost because they took the hook at our feet. It was at this holy place of the goddess where I had a vision, a revelation, and will write about what I experienced. Some of you will not like what my vision reveals, some of you will gain great knowledge about the elusive steelhead from it, and as usual some of you just won't get it, because you're too stupid to live.
WHEN THEY ARE THIS BIGGGGGGGGG-------- (Please note I caught this one...)
We called this the trough....
It was a drop off filled to the brim with fish....

After a long and boring road trip with Orvis Boy, he got car sick at least five times (can you believe it?) in 16 hours. He threw up out of the window one of the times all over the side of my new rig and I couldn't decide if I was going to make him lick it off or use one paper towel at a time to remove the puke. (Has anyone ever done that in High School? I remember doing that on my way to a kegger. Some older boy had given me tequila shots in order to seduce me. Unfortunately for him, it made me sick and I threw up down the side of his white with red stripes, 69 Camaro. Ha Ha) He also kept whining incessantly the whole time about the loud rock music I would play because he wanted to think. He also didn't like it when the windows were open because he didn't like the wind in his ears. So I refused to turn on the air conditioning in the desert country and waited till the sweat ran like rivers down his reddening cheeks before I turned it back on….


We needed a place to stay because camping was not an option. It was too rainy and miserable and did I forget to mention COLD? Our "Love Cabin" wouldn't be ready till tomorrow. Again, tragedy struck Orvis Boy, because the perfect atmosphere of the "Love Cabin" was ruined because it burned down that night, while the Swiss occupants were barbequing (in the style of the "Great Swiss Fire of the Morice Forests). Do you think Orvis Boy will ever luck out? So we went in search of other lodging, and found this quaint little lodge on the banks of the Bulkley in Telkwa.

I knocked on the door and stuck my head in saying "Helllllooooooo" Jerry Seinfeld style (remember the Belly Button episode?). I noted that it was cutely decorated and also noted a 16 pound mounted steelhead on a table with a dark red stripe. Turning to leave and going down the cedar steps of the lodge I was stopped by a grizzled old face popping out from behind a door beckoning. It was cocked at such a strange angle that it scared the shit out of me. It reminded me of the "Alien" in the movie "Alien" where the "Alien" popped out of the poor astronaut's belly unceremoniously and cocked it's head at everyone around the operating table.

A short old grizzled gentleman (about the perfect height to stare straight at my non-existent cleavage) introduced himself to the very awestrucked, Orvis Boy and I.

"Hello, you may have heard of me. I'm Cullen Maxwell Ruberick the III. Fly Fisher Extraordinare."

I replied digging my nails into my palms to stop the giggles.

"Well no, I haven't heard of you"
I was now realizing that the 16pound mount in his lodge was probably the largest fish he had ever caught.

Then I looked over at Orvis Boy. Orvis Boy had run over to my truck tripping up a few times, to get his most recent Orvis Catalog to be autographed by the infamous Cullen.


Cullen continued and began a series of lectures that I won't quote word for word for they would bore you and you might think random thoughts like I did. For examples like when these people talk do they sometimes put themselves to sleep? When they drive, do they sit there and try to think about how to present information so badly and so detailed oriented that they do it on purpose so they can make people stay around them in a comatosed state of sleep ridden confusion. Why would they do that? Are they so desperate for friends that even a comatosed one would be better then being alone? Take Jennie at Ifish.net for example.

These lectures I now call the "Essays of Cullen Maxwell Ruberick the III."

We discussed the Bulkley and he informed us of the following.

"You Washingtonians and Oregonians, don't know how to fish these rivers up here or have the capability to figure them out. The steelhead here, are completely different and they don't hold where you think they would hold. And I should know this because I have been guiding here for 21 years".

I think to myself "mmmmkay, where do they hold on top of the water?" Later on I heard from the locals that he had been there for only six years and was teased and recognized as being the shittiest guide in the whole Skeena system. We also heard that the guides he hired were the worse ever and the recognized successful Lodges made fun of them. We were also told that he had previously used a tool shed till he had finally written a book about dry fly fishing and had bought a lodge from it's proceeds.


"I and my guides know every single rock, depression & spot that regularly holds steelhead. Not just any steelhead. We regularly get 40 pound steelhead exclusively on dry flies." He said raising his non existent chin out of his beefy neck like a turtle.

Orvis Boy began to salivate. Little did Orvis Boy and Cullen know, that the world record for a fly caught steelie was 33 pounds and on gear 38 pounds. I dug my fingernails even further in to keep from laughing and was starting to make quarter inch indentations. I decided this was going to be fun and played stupid. I begged him to continue on…

"I see young Lady that you have an aluminum drift boat. I prefer my 14 year old Klickitat Fiberglass drift boats. They are much more quieter".

Orvis Boy FINALLY got insulted… "Fiberglass is quiet till you hit a rock." He saulked.

Cullen responded… "They glide easily over every rock, they are warm, much quieter and I have repaired mine quite easily with resin & fiberglass patches."

As the debate continued on in a gentlemanly manner. I went to look at one of his drift boats. As I inspected the bottom of it, I was shocked, it looked like it had been subjected to machine gun fire. On closer inspection, I noted that the patches were upon patches and as I stared ever harder they transformed into tumourous growths looming from the bottom. I now began to draw blood from my swollen palms in order not to laugh hysterically because it was getting better still.

Cullen continued…
"My boats are painted a primared gray as not to spook the weary steelhead. Your Aluminum Willie Boat is way too shiny. Also the only adornment on my boats… is the small yet tastefully done crest of my fishing lodge." (A yellow happy face sticker)

I had also noted that they had absolutely no amenities, like seats or knee braces. There were three five gallon buckets inside. One for the guide and two for the clients to sit on. With no cross bracing I imagined the sides of the boat must flex like a kiddie swimming pool as it traverses down the river.

"Where do you prefer to fish young lady? IN front of the motel where you will be staying since you can't afford my $3400.00 American a week?"

Not falling for the trap, I smiled good naturely and responded…
"Fifty feet in front of one of your gray tubs"

He then asked us where we fished in Washington, and at the mention of the Olympic Peninsula he started a whole new essay…

"I fished the OP numerous times and do not care for those rivers. They are without granduer, class and neary a steelhead would rise to my perfectly presented dry fly. February and March, when I spent many a season on the Queets. I could not be bothered fishing the lessor rivers, filled with those nosy and useless Aluminum Drift Boats."

Luckily for us, as blood began to drip from my hand and Orvis Boy felt like puking again, a back slapping gentleman full of Bonhomie, wearing a burnt orange handkerchief around his neck came up and we made our escape.

Orvis Boy got animated and regained a semi normal state. "He's wearing this years new fall fashion… Oh JOY!"
Isn't this the ultimate stud 80's poster. AWESOME...


The dead wild life can be used for fly fishing gear (we discussed this earlier but had substituted house hold kitties).

1. For hooks & Leaders
Dead porcupine road kill, the quills make great hooks and the intestines great leader

2. Floating Line
Cedar Bark the thicker the woven strands the better it floats.

3. Dry flies
Eagle feathers found beneath Eagle nests, the Eagle shit also makes great epoxy
Grizzly fur - the long hair on the hump can be used as tying thread (and the radio tag collar of the grizzly makes a fashionable neck piece or can also be used for help in finding your dead mutilated body. Did you know that when a bear kills you he crushes your head in his jaws?)

How to hide from the grizzly bear you've taken the hair from…

1. Hide in the litter barrels along the highway they are bear proof

2. Climb a tree with over 3 feet in diameter trunk. Good luck on finding one right away since most of them have all been logged.

3. Run past & hit a backpacking hitch hiking granola with a rotting Pink Salmon Carcass, stuff it in his backpack, push him down and continue to run. He'll never know what hit him, errrr ate him.

How to keep from attracting bears…

1. Don't use their long neck hair for fly tying thread (see the above)

2. Resist the urge to roll in rotting carcasses on the riverbank.

3. Hang your food in trees or hide them in litter barrels along the highway. (remember they are bear proof)

4. Don't eat and pretend to be Gandi or Bobby Sands.

5. Resist craving for picking berries, he has the same urge also.

6. Feed the bear chicken bones, may be he will choke on them.


How to entertain your small children while fishing in bear country…

1. Stake them like the Judas Goat

2. Make them cast plaster molds of the paw prints of found bear tracks. The biggest one wins the prize.

3. Douse with pepperspray like off, as bear repellant.