PFF 2001 v3.0

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(The following is a regurgitation of a feeble mine. Any omissions of names, people, events, or tragedies is solely the fault of the author's senility and he takes no responsiblity nor holds anyone harmless from 3rd party liability. In the event of a dispute, I refer you to my lawyer, John Thomas)

Arrived about lunchtime on Friday - JT and Joe Johnson were already fishing, and the 3 Musketeers (Andy, WDR, and Grump) were there, setting up camp, along with Ron Randle and Red and others. I spent the afternoon riding herd on a large chunk of bovine, only interrupted occasionally by Red's announcement of the successful hooking of yet another sculpin (*G*)from the B'dam beside the camp. By late afternoon, all had arrived, probably 25 or so. As usual, Loopy did his imitation of Michelangelo on the vise and he supplied some of his father's (LoopDaddy) chili to go along with the bovine.

Jars were passed for quite some time
Good thing no one made Keith walk the line
Glenmorangie so smooth it flows down the throat
If you drink enough, you'll think you're a boat.
Then you'll awake and search 'midst the damp grasses
for keys and memories and thoughts and eyeglasses.
But what you'll find instead is simply nothing more than throbbing head.

Saturday began early for most, very early for some (then again, I'm not sure that some could tell where Friday ended and Saturday began). The crew split up and went in all directions - some to Virginia mountains, some to the Watauga, some to the S. Holston, some to the rehab clinic. I think most everyone ended up at some time during the day on the Beaverdam.

Sulphur hatches around 1pm, big Green Drake hatches near nightfall. Great BBQ Pork from Dixie Barbeque of Johnson City served for supper. Loop tied the most realistic Green Drake I have yet seen, or will likely ever see.

As some one said "We killed 'em" (Please note: There were no fish killed or harmed by the making of PFF 3.0.... however, a bunch of green drakes committed suicide on Andy's green beast). Beautiful browns. Radiant rainbow's. Blustering, belligerent bluegill. Scintillating sculpins. Cherubic chubs. Smooth, subtle, sneaky Scotch. Winsome, wily, wondrous, fruitfilled wonder juice.

The best thing of all, as is usually the case:

Great guys (and gal - Red). Great fisher folk. Great fellowship. Great food. Great drink. Great setting. Great Host (thanks so much Tom!).

Thanks to JT for his hard work. To Shane for the great T-shirts. To Red for the CD (very, very good...Martha Jane made me cry). To Brad for keeping WB alive. To Bruce and Paul for the company and tour. To Loop for the art. To Andy for the Mac. To Uncle Bob and Ronnie for making me laugh (alot). To Joe for helping me clean up. To Rod for showing up. To Creek, to Dixie, to Pfisher, to Ron, to Rusty, and everyone else, thanks. And again, Tom - THANKS so very much. Your hospitality is overwhelming.

-Beowulff