Nobody Voluntarily Drives Anybody to LAX
The first time Lake Skinner punched me in the mouth, I was fishing a club tournament as a guest with Big Ed. Funny enough, I’d end up joining that same club years later, which...
Category: Saltwater
Where I go to trash my bass gear
The Pylons Always Win
I’ve started realizing that the more I fish for Spotted Bay Bass, the more they remind me of psychopathic little largemouth living in a saltwater urban housing development. “The Projects,” if you will. They...
The Float Tube
The Swimbaiter kept firing a glide — looked like a DRT Klash — into a field of drifting grass at Probation Pond, harvesting weeds more efficiently than fish. It’s a familiar kind of optimism...
2025, That’s a Wrap
We were crawling back home north on the 5, tail between our legs, dodging the usual San Diego Driving Academy graduates. You know the ones. Dudes trailering boats in the fast lane, brake-checkers, and...
Blood, Zen and Security Guards in Golf Carts
My thumb was finally dripping bright red blood, and yet I was smiling ear to ear, having just released my PB Spot. It kicked my ass like if I owed it money, ripping drag...
The Jetty Giveth, the Jetty Taketh Your Shin
I realized something this week. I haven’t actually fun fished in a while. Like, just gone out to fish without a tournament hanging over my head like the cloud that follows Eeyore everywhere. In...
Addicted to Rocks
Saturday morning, I found myself out at the Marina del Rey jetty. I wasn’t planning on being there, but it was either that or prefishing Diamond Valley again, which we affectionately now call Cubic...