My wonderful husband Orvis Boy…  I only married him for his money and his muscles.  This was so I can go on the ultimate fishing trips, not have to work so I can go on the ultimate fishing trips during the week and have him row my perfect ass down the river on these ultimate fishing trips.  He gets tired of my abuse and on occasion must speak out.  This is his page and his side.  Which one of us do you believe in our rantings?
I’d now like to introduce you to my husband and financial backer, Orvis Boy… Without him this web site, my rantings and my adventures wouldn’t be possible or as funny as they are. He is the man behind the scenes, the man who is privileged enough to put up with my shit. He has the patience of a Saint, is funnier than Dennis Miller and completely worships the ground I walk on. As he should, considering his last wife was the nag bitch queen from hell and made me look like Mary Poppins. She wouldn’t let him fish, hunt or drive a truck. Talk about anti-redneck. Remember boyz, it’s always them cute little granola chics that turn out to be them fat, granola ugly, anti-anything fun wives. If anyone would like to ask advice about “how not to marry a bitch…”feel free to email Orvis Boy, he’ll tell you what to watch out for. My advice on the subject. LOOK AT THEIR MOTHERS!

Why does Orvis Boy get his own ranting page you ask? Well, it’s kind of unfair that I get to have all the fun now isn’t it? He’ll probably do his only once a week though, or whenever he gets irritated at me, which hopefully won’t be every day. What’s funny about his ranting page is that if he would of done it last year he’d be ranting about what color waders to wear and what shade of pink works best for a steelhead fly. Thank God he’s changed back into the man I now know and love.

So here’s Orvis Boy for ya… please enjoy… We really do a hat----errrrrr love each other. It’s one of them love/hate things. Hee Hee
This is how you keep them quiet.  Barefoot and pregnant is how I likes my wimmen’!!
June 2nd

You know, I get tired of rowing all the time so I thought on our opening day trip I would try to use the electric motor to help boondog.  Maybe I could fish.  Not just row, but actually fish.

This is a dumb idea for drift boats.  The battery, me and an 8 month old labrador puppy should not be in the stern of the boat.  It makes the boat handle like a pig.  Come to think of it, with all the extra weight Angie’s packin’, along with the battery, dog and electric motor it’s a wonder the boat floated at all.

So, don’t try the electric motor thing.  It’s stupid.  You have much better control over the boat with the oars than anything else.  Electric motors are probably useful if you need to move your boat 2 river miles through tidewater because you’ve pissed off the cannery owner at the take out.  Maybe.  I probably wouldn’t have pissed him off, but that’s why I am the happy Orvis Boy I am.  I doubt if Angie would piss him off either.  She’s actually quite nice in person.  Wait, I must still be dreaming.  Someone wake me up.

Speaking of my evil other, she is difficult to lift in and out of the boat.  Damn she’s fat now.  I actually think she’s going to pop early (and she better, I am going bear hunting August 1 and then again for the 2nd bear in late September).  It was quite difficult “bear”ing with her until she hooked the steelhead.  She did not take my comments like: “Boy, I’m tired of stinking like fresh fish.” and “Are you sure you know how to do this?”

She threatened to hit me in the face with the next sucker Dave catches.

She threatened to keel haul me. 

All the jagged metal on the bottom of the boat from the ill-fated Hoh expedition would have cut me to pieces.  That got us onto the topic of what do we want done when we die.  Angie can’t imagine dying (Hoh???), my friend said he and his wife have cremation agreements in their wills… and what do I want?  I want to be cremated, mixed with meth and sold to crank addicts.  At least the little demon will get some money from me.

Dennis is right, there are a lot of Dollies in the Skagit.  Big Ones.  So why does he tell everyone this?  I thought he wanted to protect the dollies?  So now there are boats on the river that are interested in only catching dollies.  And killing them.  Lots of them.  Good job Dennis.  Put up a billboard next time.
Do you think she'll ever get her body back? I don't know it's looking unlikely, but what do I expect. I bought the cow, you know.

What a week, the QueenofSpey is now the “Queen of All Snakes Who Have Swallowed Watermelons and Can’t Digest Them”. Do you think this has made her a pleasant person to be with? My only consolation is that when she’s laying down, she can’t get up. She “turtles”. Maybe one day when she has fallen and can’t get up, when she’s squirming on her back because the demon child (it can’t be mine…) has weighed her down, I can make my escape. I had the chance last weekend but I blew it.

We were up in the mountains (“Oh Honey, we caught lots of trout here last year.” I ask if maybe it was a little bit later in the year as I look at 3’ high snow drifts I have to power my truck through to reach the lake. “Oh not really, maybe a month later”. I ask her if she think the ice has come off the lake. “I’m sure. It’s been hot here”. I shake my head as I wonder how she could not have noticed the 3,500’ gain in elevation as we climbed to the lake in 4 wheel drive through snow drifts. I told her I was going to cut some wood, it would be cold that night. Six hours later I had a cord cut. That barely lasted through the early evening.

We tried the lake for trout. Poor little Popsicle trout was all I could think of. We shouldn’t have left White Lake. I was catching a few a day on Chironomids. It was a lot warmer down there on White Lake. There were big fish. All I could see at this mountain lake was Popsicles.

She was taking a nap and had turtled. I had the keys to the 4X4. We were 20 miles from the next person. Bears and wolves were roaming the woods. I could make my escape. Except we had kids with us. There was no way I could round them up, get them in the truck before the “QueenofSnakes” grabbed a large root wad and clubbed me in the head.

Actually, I was glad the kids were with us. On the drive back Angie was complaining that I didn’t get her a romantic Mother’s Day Card. (What an oxymoron). She started to whine incessantly about a lack of respect when from the back I hear:

“Mom, guys who do all that stuff are wussies. Real men forget those stupid dates that were only started to enrich the greeting card companies corporate coffers. A sensitive, pony tailed, green peace lovin’ homo would have bought you a lovely perfumed card.”


“Mommy, he bought you CANADA. That’s better than a stupid card”.

Saved again by the kids.

When we got back there was more trouble in store for me. In my switch from USWEST to MSN I hadn’t reconfigured the diabolical and ancient Cisco modem. There was no internet for Angie to surf. She could not take out her anger on an unsuspecting and geeky internet community. I received the brunt of it. She also had forgotten her password (which I tried to get from her, but to no avail. I tried all the usual suspects: demonspawn, Beelzebub, BobBall. None of them worked.)

At home Ang was trying different things to get the modem to work. In my backyard last Wednesday we had two goats, 4 chickens, a guinea hen, a Vietnamese pot bellied pig and an old Holstein milk cow. Ang was getting ready for a heavy day of sacrificing in an attempt to get the modem to work. Not wanting to clean up the bloody mess the next morning I called the petting zoo she had stolen them from and had them returned.

I then used “The black art of reconfiguring the modem using ancient commands and spells from the QWEST website obtained at work.” Lucky for me and the pot bellied pig it worked. Not so lucky for anyone else on the internet.
Courtesy of www.flyfishsteelhead.com...
Mr. Newman and Mr. Steelhead?
Looks like a big Dollie Varden to me..
May 4th Update

Update: Blake the Fisheries Biologist says that the fish I am referring to is indeed a steelhead. What the hell do I know? I married Angie! I am Orvis Boy! I still think it’s a dolly (not that I’ve ever caught either a dolly or a steelhead, my main expertise is salt water bulllheads fished close to shore on a rising tide with flies that resemble raw bacon). Anyways, it still looks like a funny fish. Angie would have given me hell for a picture like that and forced me to retake it until I got it right (which would be showing the fish in all it’s color).

Now its back to my chores, I gotta get the old truck fixed up for our adventure to Kamloops country next weekend where we will fish for trout (not troots) with chironomids and strike indicators or as Angie would say…. Bugs and bobbers.

May something, I think the 2nd. Shit, I don’t know. I am just able to type after this past weekend. My crab claw hands have just begun to straighten out. The cramping has finally stopped.

I rowed a fat pig all weekend on the Sauk/Skagit. 12 hours a day. Plugging the entire time. Can you imagine the heckling from her?

“Come on Orvis Boy, this boat rows easier than your last one.”

“It’s the last weekend, we need another toad for the website.”

“I’m gonna take a nap, wake me up if I hook a fish.”

“I rowed two lineman from the Seahawks yesterday, you can do it, ya little whiner”

I reply that the Seahawks suck and they probably weighed 120 pounds apiece. She said they must have been from the Raiders then.

So, now I can type, shit I just got bothered by a telemarketer. It’s okay though, I like to play with them. For example, if they want to talk to the woman of the house, I tell them in Arabic, then in a Middle Eastern accent that she is not allowed to use the phone like an infidel woman. That shuts them up. Or if they try to sell me a magazine subscription I tell them;

“That’s real nice but I can’t read. My sister reads my mail to me. I am enrolled in adult literacy class but this will take some time. I like my Weekly Reader Magazine. Can you sell me that?”

Do this with the voice Billy Bob Thornton used in Sling Blade. You’ll never get called again, which really is the whole point.

Ok, enough of them, you get the drift. Rather than bitch, be creative. My favorite to date has been: “I got off the toilet with out wiping my ass ……FOR THIS!!!!!!”

Speaking of wiping your ass. I saw a picture on a flyfishing guide’s website that showed what looked to be a dolly but the caption read “Mr Steelhead”. Is this a joke? I didn’t think the guy had a sense of humor, except his flies are a joke… ha ha ha. Or am I mistaken. It is a steelhead with weird spots, weird bulging eyes, a brown back, a snout and with fins that stick out the sides like Alfred E. Neuman’s ears. Or would that be Mr. Neuman? Just go to Flyfishsteelhead.com to see and click on the reports page. I maybe mistaken, but I think that’s a large dolly…

What else can I say? Life with Angie is difficult, but becomes much worse now that she is more preggars. Each day on the river requires 2 – 3 days of convalescing to rescuperate, especially if she rowed a Seahawks lineman. This means that on the day she fishes I have to keep the house clean and cook dinner (via Pizza Hut). Then when she is recuperating I have to entertain her and cook dinner (insert favorite restaurant here tempered by Orvis Boy’s natural aversion to spending money). I actually have her convinced now that Hot and Sour soup made by the cheap chinese reataurant down the street is better than the chemical stew served by the yuppie hang out on Roosevelt. It’s also half the price. I am quite the cook, I mean orderer on the telephone.
A real man???? Ha Ha Ha...
As co-host and co-creator of Comedy Central's "The Man Show", Jimmy Kimmel makes no apologies for being a guy.
He should...
APRIL 15TH 2002

The “Man” Show? I think not. More like “The Wimpy College Boy Who Never Did An Honest Days Work Show”. Has anyone seen that waste of airspace on Comedy Central? I’ve seen it a few times and can’t figure out why its on the air. They have a pre-occupation with midgets and dwarves ( a sick-sick fetish), trampolines and bad beer. My version of the Man Show would be a little different:

Scantily clad Victoria’s Secret models, kissing each other… oh yeah guys, be honest, what REAL Man does not like the idea of two hot chicks going at it.

REAL Men drink good cheap beer, but only to wash down shots of Jack or Wild Turkey.

REAL Men wouldn’t get a woody from dwarves.

A REAL Man would be cleaning his firearm while doing the show, not sipping a mug of beer daintily talking about bowels movements and midget wrestling.

REAL Men know all about tools and don’t have to go to the hardware store asking stupid questions about the use of a hammer.

REAL Men drive 4X4 trucks, not BMW SUVs. I bet the hosts of the Man/Wimp Show drive Volvos, or god forbid, Subaru Outbacks.

The trampoline act can stay though, except the girls should be bouncing in tandem with me in the middle of the sandwich, downing shots of JD and them holding on to my “firearm”. Is that a 44 Magnum in your pocket or are you just happy to see me. Be careful with a loaded weapon, it probably doesn’t shoot blanks.
March 24, 2002

One week after St Paddy’s day and the scars on my head from the troll comments are healed. Ya know, she wants to try out for survivor. I said she would be the first booted off, some how she would offend every person in her tribe. After this week’s episode, I don’t think any of them will survive. The only person with true survival skills was the buxom Sarah with the inorganic flotation devices permamanetly instaled. Her survival talent was surviving a Tsunami. Now that she is gone I have no reason to watch the show. Well, maybe to see the rantings of Sean. He seems somewhat militant in his views. His extremism has to be an act.

I’ve known some militant african-americans, Sean is a gross caricature of them. Why is he a slave and the others “Clydesdales”. Food does not hop into your hands fully cooked unless you go to Denny’s, Sean baby. I think they should let Sean go hungry and thirsty. Make him get his own food. Same for the “Rob-Father”. BTW, who in the hell would fear the “ROB-FATHER”. He is an uneducated Boston-Boy with the brains of a sparrow, the physical stature of Richie Cunningham and the personality of a cartoon character (Scooby Doo comes to mind, sits around and eats and when work is to be done is no where around). The best strategy would be to starve them out, throw a few Challenges and dump those losers. Then Big Momma can kick their asses in town. And Rob can suckle on flotation devices. Sean can play with his “Play Cousin”. Gross.

Back to Angie and being on survivor, well I asked her what she really thought of the people she ranked on. I asked her what she really thought of Dennis Dickson. She thought Dennis really was a marketing genius, and that he had a lot of good techniques to share on fly fishing, but that it was silly to take a class when for a little more money you could get one on one or one on two instruction. Her comments on Bob I can’t type. I am a Christian.

So, she really wants to try survivor. This year will be spent in preparation for the low probability event that she makes the cut. Here’s the plan:

Acting lessons, so she can act like she enjoys other people’s company. Even if they are stupid.

Gross food eating exercises. I get to cook. Stuff like the rotten fertilized egg dish favored by Filipino men while watching football. Or my heritage food, limed herring and cod.

Sleeping with others. Wait, she has that nailed down.

Water exercises. Her rowing a drift boat and swimming the Hoh has her well prepared for this.

Political skills. First she will memorize Machiavelli’s “The Prince” and then watch old episodes of Dallas.

Voice box removal surgery, in case all of the above don’t work.

Track down an application and make a video tape. Guess how many yards, nay, miles of footage I’ll have to shoot to get 5 minutes of quality video. Oops, I digress…
Orvis Boy trying not to yell at me. Please note my sheepish and guilty face… errrrrr Honey, I’m sorry… It’s okay, just think of it as a Valentine’s Day Present…
March 17th, 2002

Luck of the Irish my ass. Oh that’s right, I’m not Irish. Shit, another day this weekend and I haven’t been able to go fishing. Instead I’m stuck here with a neurotic, over-hormoned bitch from hell. I can handle a honey do list, but when she gives one request, followed by another, followed by another that I have “TO DO RIGHT NOW!!! HELP GOD DAMMIT!! OOORRRRRVVVIIIISSS BOOOOOOOOOOYYYYYYY!!!!!

I go insane. She’s doing it to me right now. “Stop writing the rant I commanded you to and get on the internet RIGHT NOW AND FIND AN IRISH BAND WITH DANCING, DO I LOOK OK TO SEE AN IRISH BAND!????”

Of course not honey, you look fat, you look absolutely trollish. I actually say this. My head hurts now from the beating. Luckily I drank a lot of milk as a youth and am blessed with the extra thick cranium common to Norwegians. I will survive.

Where was I, hopefully I won’t digress, or regress, similar to my (pick one, all are applicable at one time or another, on bad days they are all simultaneous conditions) wife/nemesis/hound/psychotic conscience/nightmare/daymare…

Now for my rant, and it’s about her rants: Stop picking on the usual suspects. They have been bludgeoned into oblivion. It’s time to start with some new personalities: I nominate PETA and all PETA officers. Or how about the Puget Sound Gillnetters Association…. Or how about native fisheries… Or native hunting…. Name names, get the facts, you don’t work… stop spending all day surfing the net for teletubby dolls and surf for tribal leaders names and e-mail addresses, the PSGA leaders, PETA People and their stupidity.

Not a big enough list? How about the WDFW? Where is the Sauk run? I hammered the fish last year in Feb, but this Feb the river was a biological disaster. The Hoh was pretty good, found a nice Willie boat in one of the holes…

Oh yeah, it wouldn’t hurt if you cleaned the house once in a while, layed off the bon bons and quit watching Jerry Springer. He is not a role model. Now Donahue, there was a class act!!!!

Another thing, can you believe that she tried to kill herself after one week of marriage? She didn’t even allow me enough time to get her insured. Now I have her heavily insured. I think I would of become the fastest widower there ever was, except for James Bond in his first movie and marriage, where his bride got shot on the drive from the church. People asked me why I married her. I don’t know, maybe because she was the skinniest girl I could find fishing on the river. I have this allergy to cellulite you know, every time I go near it my gagging reflex starts going. I happened upon the Mermaid of the Cowlitz once and I woke up in a hospital a week later.

That’s it for now, I’ve got flies to tie, waders to patch and a Willie boat to take care of. BTW, I got a bad case of the runs diving for that damn thing in the Hoh. I really would’ve been pissed if I got diareah for nothing. Lucky for me the boat was unhurt and sitting in about 12’-14’ upright in front of the Oxbow launch. No one would have ever have found it… I had to get a commercial diver with tanks to locate it (took 1 tank and 1 hour to find it), my skin diving didn’t work too well in the current and the depth (not to mention the shitty visibility). That Willie took a lickin’ and keeps on tickin’. It is truly hell built for stout. Her next boat will be made from 1/8 “ Type 316 SS though. Then I’m sending her down the Calawah at minus 1 boards! HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA!!