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Ah, I'm glad to see this term given its proper treatment in these "pages."

I luvs me some kippers too, but being mostly pretty inept piscatorially, I have to settle for the canned ones. Which smell a bit more "colorful," am I right? I ate some at my old work once, and prissy betches (who habitually reeked of cheap perfume by the way) were giving me dirty looks.

Scott Parker

Woohoo. Finally a word that describes, in a nutshell, the way I typically roll while fishing! Not just skunked, but squacked. Not coming back just empty handed but demoralized, humiliated, uncomfortable, cold, sunburned, frequently dazed and confused, and often with some type of minor injury to boot! Although I usually have some entertaining pictures... although if someone ELSE were taking them they would probabally be even more entertaining...

I still love it though. :) A sprained ankle, sunburn, and mild case of the flu is more than equitable for a day listening to the surf and being innundated by the crisp scent of salt air...

Great post!


The spankings Mother Nature metes out to her children are almost always preferable to the abuse they visit upon themselves!
(I say "almost always", because I can understand how somebody like Stephen Hawking might take exception to such an assertion)

Getting paid to sit at a desk half the day? Now THAT's an insufferable indignity, to which no squack can compare!


BTW, I mean absolutely no direspect to the throngs of unemployed, who would gladly endure the indignities of office work for a paycheck. I'm just agreeing that a squack is always better than not making the effort at all; that fresh air is always healthier than the alternative.

I'm sure the host & author of this blog, despite facing imminent unemployment, will agree(?) ...


Has anyone tried fly fishing for Herring? It seems to me like they would be fun on a 3wt. If they’ll hit a sabiki rig, they’ll probably hit a small streamer or a shad fly. I may have to give it a try.



They don't feed when spawning...


Humans are probably the only animal that does!

I've heard from women that it tastes better if the man eats grapefruit on a regular basis ...


Ah. Makes sense that they are otherwise occupied.


There is squack in all things. There is squack in the office; there is squack in the unemployment line. Squack resides in all things because it is all things. Even the physicist acknowledges the quantum possibility of squack in every particle. Though of course in that case, the presence of squack is not ascertained until the observation is made, and moreover, manifests itself precisely BECAUSE the observation is made. Hence it is that squack is always the product -- or we humans might say, in our egotistical non-comprehension of the universe's true laws, purposes and machinations, the by-product -- of human action.

But lest we appear to criticize too harshly our species -- the poor Ape, with his pointy sticks and his rock-throwing -- we must note that this property of squack (its genesis in human action, or attempted action) makes it precisely and undeniably OURS. Like the tree falling in the deserted forest, there can be no squack, without a squackee to be squacked therupon and thereby. Squack is impossible without U. And also without ACK. We make squack.

Though of course, as Yakov Smirnoff would hasten to point out: In Soviet Russia (and in every other place and time), squack makes us! Squack forms and shapes us, forging our character and fucking up our backs, peppering the once fertile fields of our gullible and foolhardy brains with the seeds of learned caution.

Squack unites us as a species. Squack makes us strong. Our entire landscape is transformed by squack. For example, certain sites, by virtue of any past memories of squackage visited thereupon, may become unofficially off-limits forever. Others may remain within our mental inventory of spots, but forever carry the extra whiff of squack, lodged deep in memory, always crouched and perhaps waiting just around the corner. This in turn often promotes an extra vigilance and circumspection, as mentioned earlier. Confronting old squack, we are ready, taut and strong like violin strings, ready to sing. Sing in Me, O Squack. For Thou art my Makre, and I Thine.


Damn Rol! You go dude.


Shit, I should lay off the sauce!

Scott Parker

Wow. Bravo, Rol. Just Bravo!

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