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May 31, 2005
In the News
SIR Bob Geldof will today announce the glittering line-up for music spectacular Live 8 - but the Spice Girls will not be in it.
The rest of the riveting story here...
In other news, I trimmed my toenails this morning.
Posted by RobF at 11:23 AM | Comments (0) | TrackBack
Engaged
Hotel heiress Paris Hilton is said to be engaged...
And over-exposed.
And ugly.
And uninteresting.
And unintelligent.
And trashy.
And probably diseased.
And most likely medicated.
I wonder if the lucky groom-to-be is the guy on the infamous video tape? What a lucky guy...
Posted by RobF at 11:05 AM | Comments (0) | TrackBack
Society of Ruprechts
Three emergency-room doctors called Friday for long, pointed kitchen knives to be banned in a bid to reduce the number of stabbings in Britain.Writing in the British Medical Journal, three doctors from London's West Middlesex University Hospital said that at least half of stabbing cases involved kitchen knives. Long, pointed knives serve no useful purpose in kitchens, they argued.
"Many assaults are impulsive, often triggered by alcohol or misuse of other drugs, and the long pointed kitchen knife is an easily available potentially lethal weapon, particularly in the domestic setting," wrote Emma Hern, Will Glazebrook and Mike Beckett in an editorial for the journal.
A lurid example of government bent on protecting society from civilization. If you allow the vast unwashed the luxury of a boning knife, they will stick each other.
I'll blow their head off with a big slow bullet. If they take away my guns, I'll cut them. If they take away my knives, I'll hit them with a ball bat. If they take away my sporting equipment, I'll bash their brains with a rock. If they outlaw rocks, I'll rip their throat out with my teeth, I swear to God.
There is a Monty Python skit buried in this somewhere but I'm not inspired enough to lure it out.
One final note: It's awfully difficult to eat steak when there is a cork on your fork. Let the people eat applesauce!
Posted by RobF at 10:46 AM | Comments (0) | TrackBack
May 28, 2005
Blood and guts
"I am a soldier, I fight where I am told, and I win where I fight"
-General George Patton Jr
Posted by RobF at 09:10 AM | Comments (0) | TrackBack
May 24, 2005
Dead and Bloated
"I am smellin' like the rose
that somebody gave me on
my birthday deathbed
I am trampled under sole of
another man's shoes
Guess I walked too softly"
-STP
Posted by RobF at 01:14 PM | Comments (0) | TrackBack
Compromise
This is the majority Republican Senate. This is how we’re being represented.
The question left unanswered is not what Democrats should we hang? It’s clear we hang’em all. The question is, how many Republicans should we dangle as well?
I can’t wait until we get the opportunity to step in this slop again, as soon as a Supreme Court Vacancy becomes available.
Where in the world does one go in order to find a Republican politician with a set of balls? We (the American people) will never get proper representation from our elected officials as long as we allow them to make a career of public service. Is it too much to ask of our congressmen to call a liar a liar? How does the “conservative” party expect to succeed when they allow the Democrats to spread complete falsehoods? Perhaps they don’t expect to succeed. Perhaps they don’t care. Isn’t it obvious that, no matter how ridiculous and conniving the Democrat’s claims, the mainstream media will water it down to slurry and pour it in the trough for the herds of the great ignorant unwashed?
Our great grandparents are rolling over in their grave…
Posted by RobF at 12:51 PM | Comments (0) | TrackBack
May 16, 2005
Badman Walleye Fishing Charters
I’d like to premise my story by saying that I am an avid fisherman. While certainly not a pro, I’ve been around the block a few times. I’m also what you would call a leisurely sportsman. I enjoy the fishing and then I rate the catch precisely in that order. I believe that the old adage, “sometimes you get the bear and sometimes the bear gets you”, applies quite well to a day on the water. Occasionally the fish seem to want to jump in the boat and sometimes you can’t catch a fish with a stick of dynamite. If this were not the case, it would be called “catching”, and not “fishing”. This should be understood by most anyone who is willing to pay a guide for a day on the water. You roll the dice and hope for one of those incredible days but understand that you will probably get something that ranges from above average to slow. It’s reasonable to assume that you will catch some fish and it’s also reasonable to assume that your guide will make sure that you have a good time. The way I see it, a paid guide has three main responsibilities:
1. Safely captain the boat
2. Make sure the clients are comfortable and having fun
3. Put the clients in the best possible position to catch fish
Regardless of what kind of weather conditions you encounter, what kind of fishing success is possible, and what kind of fishing you are doing, it is absolutely reasonable to expect that these three responsibilities should be met by a charter service. Anything less is unacceptable.
In December of 2004 I began looking for Lake Erie Walleye charter services because I had decided that I would book a full day trip and pay my father’s way as a birthday gift. I looked at a number of charter write-ups and called several captains. I did not feel that it was necessary to pay top dollar and I didn’t feel that it was wise to book a trip with the cheapest captain. After speaking with Captain Joe Holly, I decided to make arrangements to fish with his service, Badman Charters of Port Clinton, Ohio on Sunday May 15. He assured me that he had the facilities to handle six people comfortably for a full day of walleye fishing on Lake Erie. I followed the directions that were sent to me months in advance. We booked cabins for Saturday night and I called Joe to discuss weather conditions a few days before our trip. He said that it would be windy and rough, but fishable.
I brought my father, my father-in-law, one of my father-in-law’s clients, a family friend, and my brother. My brother and I were the only two of the group under 50. While certainly not infirm old men, the majority of our party of six consisted of fair weather fans. They were perfectly willing to deal with inclement weather, as long as there was a limit to the insanity and safety considerations were a priority. All of the gentlemen in my party were enthusiastic about the fishing, and considered the actual fish to be frosting on the cake. We enjoy each other’s company and we are more about having fun than “getting the bear”.
I should mention a quick side note. I often bring a camera when I fish because I rarely keep my catch. I enjoy snapping pictures of the fish and releasing them. Walleye are certainly an exception because, in my opinion, they are the best table fare of all freshwater species. I brought my $500 digital camera on the trip and I planned to take several pictures of smiling friends and family members holding famous Lake Erie walleyes. The pictures would make excellent water cooler discussion pieces and would also seal our memories forever.
We arrived at Port Clinton on Saturday and found the sportsmen accommodations to be perfect. I spoke by telephone with Captain Holly on Saturday night and he said that he expected a lot of wind and said that we would be dealing with 2 – 4 foot waves and 50 degree weather but that the conditions were certainly fishable. We agreed to meet at the dock between 6:30 and 7:00. Despite my stern warnings to all members of my party, I was a bit concerned with their choice of clothing. All members were dressed a little light for 10 hours on a windy overcast day on Lake Erie except for my father. However, there was no rain in the forecast and I thought that, if they stayed dry, they would be comfortable enough to enjoy themselves. I dressed in layers and wore a rain suit. We met Joe, purchased our Ohio State fishing licenses and boarded the Badman Charters boat. I was immediately concerned at the size of the craft because I saw no way that the stern section had enough fishing space for six people. Captain Holly claimed that he had been making these trips since 1992 and so I assumed he knew what he was doing.
We chugged out of the marina and out into the heavy surf of the main lake.
It is my opinion that the predicted 2 – 4 foot waves were actually 4 – 6 feet but the boat was certainly up to handling the conditions. We had followed a couple of other charter boats out of the marina and into the open water. Captain Holly pressed the throttle forward and the boat roared to life. We screamed past the other captains who obviously decided it wasn’t necessary to gun the throttle into the heavy surf. The bow of the Bad Man slammed into the teeth of the chop and the waves crashed over the bow of the boat, over the windshield, over the canvas canopy and down into the stern section of the boat. My party scrambled under the canvas top in an attempt to stay mostly dry. Being the only member of the party with an actual rain suit, I made room under the canopy by remaining in the stern section. I held on to the canvas canopy with one hand, kept the other hand free in case any members of my party were to fall or slip backwards and fought to retain my balance as torrents of water rained down directly onto my head. Even with the rain suit, my upper body was soaking wet from all of the water pouring down through the neck of my jacket and my feet were soaking wet from the water that poured down through the top of my waterproof boots. I ducked under the canopy long enough to pull my camera out of my pocket and hand to my brother who stuck it below. After the half hour ride, despite their efforts, several members of my party were dripping wet from the spray that found them, even under the protection of the canopy. I looked around at the other boats and saw that all of the other fishermen were able to sit comfortably in the boat without being drowned. Most of them were not wearing rain suits. We were thirty minutes into our 10 hour trip, it was sub-50 degrees, the wind was gusting, and most of the members of our party were already very wet despite the partly sunny skies overhead.
All sets of eyes were darting from person to incredulous person in search of an indication that slamming headlong into 4 – 6 waves at near full throttle and soaking the clientele to the bone was normal procedure for this kind of trip. The general consensus seemed to be that it was largely unnecessary and we would have been more than happy to spend an extra 30 minutes in transit staying warm and dry for the rest of the day.
In any case, Captain Holly then rigged up several rods and began dropping bottom bouncers and nightcrawler harnesses over the side and placing the rods in rod holders. He then turned to the group and casually announced that he needed two volunteers to fish in the bow. Being that we were in 4 – 6 foot surf and the walkway leading to the bow section was about 8 inches wide, my brother and I quickly volunteered. It was quite obvious that we were the only two members of the party that stood a chance at making it to the bow section and then fishing there without going in the drink. Captain Holly demonstrated how to negotiate the walkway and then stood in the bow, barely concealing his impatience as we carefully (and more than a little fearfully) clamored out to the bow section while the boat rolled and pitched in the waves. We found it next to impossible to stand up and we took a seat on the hump over the cabin in the bow of the boat. We clutched the knee high railing with one hand and attempted to fish with the other. The other four members of our party began fishing somewhat comfortably (but cold and wet) in the stern section of the boat.
We fished for 3 or 4 hours like this with no success. My brother and I slowly gained our sea legs and we began to gain confidence and experience enough to stand up and fish while only occasionally reaching down with one hand to clutch at the little railing for dear life to keep from falling in the chilly water. I again scanned the other charter boats and failed to see one other boat with people daring (or stupid) enough to be standing in the bow section in such conditions.
Captain Holly then began to bark orders at his only slightly willing crew. His voice did not have the kind of tone associated with someone who was being paid to show someone a good time but spoke of someone who was impatient, indignant, and less than people friendly. Again, the glances to fellow sympathetic party members were exchanged and the looks began to take on a rather unbelieving character. We were starting to wonder who was paying who for this trip and if this guy was for real. Over the course of our day on the water, my brother and I had to talk ourselves down from the ledge several times as “Captain” Holly spoke rather harshly to the older members of our party. We joked about exactly what our captain would have to say before we felt fit to mutiny, throw him overboard, and steal his vessel for an enjoyable day of pressure free fishing.
After a few hours, Captain Holly decided it was time to try another section of the lake and we hauled the poles in and made our way back to the stern section with the others. The Bad Man roared to life and we headed in a new direction. We found ourselves in a section of water occupied by several other charter captains and, because we were able to listen to the radio conversation, we knew that we were in an area where people were starting to pick up some fish. My brother and I scrambled up to the bow of the vessel and everyone began to bait and cast the rods following the less than personable suggestions from the “captain”. Captain Holly then yelled at my brother for using his rod. This brought about another exchange of furtive glances and one member of our party even found the courage to question the fact that the captain had his own special rod. We then found the captain fishing alongside us on the bow section in between trips back to the stern to reprimand passengers before they were able to relax and enjoy themselves. Before long, I began hearing some congratulatory tones and excited rhetoric from the stern section. Sure enough, I was able to see that a few people were indeed pulling in a couple of keeper walleyes. I continued to master my new found skill of standing on a rolling and pitching bow section and I began to enjoy myself. Suddenly one of the bottom bouncers came to life and I yanked the pole from the rod holder. As if I had never fought a fish before, Captain Holly began to tell me to keep the rod tip up, don’t force him up, be patient etc. I bit my tongue and slowly worked the fish to the surface. Captain Holly skillfully netted the beautiful golden female and hauled her into the boat. “Big fish of the day”, he mumbled and pulled her out of the net by the gills. The ear-to-ear grin that I had on my face quickly disappeared. Before I could as much as get a look at my fish, Holly gripped it by the gills, removed the hook, turned away from me and walked back to the stern section to drop her in the cooler. Five hours of soaking, freezing, stumbling, and fishing and I didn’t get to touch, hold, take a picture of, or even see the fruits of my struggles. I was pretty much speechless. I then watched as other members of my party hooked fish. It was always the same, Holly would rush over, net the fish, remove the hook, and throw it in the cooler before the triumphant fisherman could get a look or a word in edgewise. The bite stopped as suddenly as it started and we had managed to put three fish in the cooler. At this point, my brother had retired from fishing and was just trying to keep from choking the captain. I was alone in the bow as Holly climbed up and began reeling in rods. He announced that we were going to move a few hundred yards and try to drift the same line. He suggested that, instead of carrying all of the rods back to the stern section and climbing back there myself, I stay in the bow and keep track of the equipment. It seemed reasonable enough so I sat down and gripped the rail while Holly fired up the boat. He slowly turned around and moved us back out. He was obviously being careful not to wash me off the front of the boat as he slowly repositioned the boat, killed the engine and we again began to drift and fish. My mood began to lighten as I realized that we could probably all deal with this idiot of a captain and still have a reasonably good time. I could take all of the pictures I could possibly want when we got back to the dock. After an unsuccessful drift and a few curses from Holly about the wind changing directions, he told me to sit tight in the bow and to watch the equipment as he moved us again. I hunkered down and gripped the rail directly in front of Holly’s windshield in plain site. The second trip wasn’t the slow gentle reposition that the first was. While not speeding through the waves, we were moving along at a clip sufficient enough to send a considerable amount of spray up over the bow. I clutched the railing and waited for Holly to back off the throttle, but he never did. For roughly ten minutes I sat on the bow with my eyes clamped shut from the constant spray in my face. I couldn’t believe that I was actually paying this guy to do this to me. When the engines finally died, I was so wet it looked as if I had actually gone in the water. My hands were red as raw meat and the top half of the sweatshirt that I wore under my rain gear was so soaked that it was dripping cold water down my legs under my rain pants.
We struggled on like this for the remainder of our trip. Fish and drift for thirty minutes, move, fish and drift some more. I refused to ride in the bow during our moves and so I scrambled back to the stern section every time we relocated. The bite never really turned on and at 4:30 we began to head back to the dock with five fish in the cooler. As I mentioned previously, I’m quite familiar with how hard it can be to catch fish sometimes. We boated a few walleye, a few smallmouth, and a couple of sheephead. We rode back to the marina, thankfully with the waves so we all stayed dry. I slipped my camera back into the pocket of my rain jacket, stepped on to the dock and headed for the men’s room after ten hours of lake fishing. I returned to the boat in short order expecting to find my crew, the captain, and our fish. Instead, I found my crew but the captain and fish were missing. Nobody had any idea where he had gone and what he had done with our fish. At last I found him chatting with a couple of other fishermen and charter captains. I asked him where our fish were and he said that they were being filleted as we speak. I stood there and gaped at him. “I wanted to take some pictures”, I stammered. “Sorry”, was all he said and he walked away. That’s right, the guy literally walked away from me. The next time I saw him, he was handing me the tag so that I could go pay for the fish that I was going to take pictures of and filet myself and never intended to pay for. I’m an honest man but I had to fight like hell to not get in my car and drive away without paying the remainder of my tab. As a matter of fact, it took quite an effort to keep from punching him in the mouth.
I paid Joe Holly of Badman Charters $600 for lodging and ten hours of walleye fishing. I received accommodations for a party of 6 on a boat made to accommodate 4. I watched him belittle and boss the members of my party around, including my father who was going on the trip as part of a birthday gift. I watched him berate a guy for taking too long to take a leak in the boat’s bathroom. I struggled to fish in the bow of his boat in rough weather. Our party, and myself especially, was repeatedly drenched because Captain Holly knew only two speeds, stop and full throttle. I fished for 10 hours in 50 degree weather with high wind. I caught one walleye in the 24 – 26 inch range that I would estimate was probably 7 pounds. I never laid a finger on the fish and I was certainly not able to get a picture of myself, wind blown and smiling, clutching the one walleye that I had managed to capture after enduring Captain Holly’s personality (or lack thereof).
I would certainly go on another Lake Erie walleye charter. I would not, however, recommend Captain Joe Holly and his aptly named Badman Charters. I felt ripped off and, worse, ill treated. Regarding the three responsibilities of a charter boat captain, I would say that Captain Holly stacked up like this.
Safely captain the boat - I don’t even know where to begin. We certainly should not have been fishing out on the bow in Sunday’s weather. I also saw no reason to be speeding full on into the waves with no regard to the passengers who were getting bounced all over the place. The throttle does have some middle ground.
Make sure the clients are comfortable and having fun – We were soaked in the first five minutes and therefore somewhat miserable the rest of the time. He could straighten up his cabin a little bit allowing people to sit down there if he feels the necessity to pound the surf at full speed. The short tone and grumpy attitude is inappropriate any time you’re being paid to do some sort of service. If you don’t enjoy working with your clientele, it’s time to try another profession.
Put the clients in the best possible position to catch fish – Instead of standing in the bow with a fishing pole in his hand I felt that Captain Joe should have been at the wheel or in front of the fish finder.
The bottom line is that I paid Joe Holly to take my group fishing. We were never guaranteed a catch, and that is perfectly acceptable. However, you would never need to guarantee someone an acceptably good time because, if we didn’t like to fish we wouldn’t be there. We would have had a good time regardless whether we caught fish or not. We needed to be treated civilly, we needed someone that spoke to us with some respect and some appreciation, and we needed to enjoy the actual catching of the fish, not the bringing home of the filets. I can buy a bag of walleye filets at Woley’s fish market in Pittsburgh and they certainly wouldn’t cost me $600. I also don’t think a picture of my first Lake Erie walleye was too much to expect, especially when I brought my own camera. After waiting months to take this trip, I went home feeling miserable and slighted. I actually thought about taking a picture holding up a bag of filets but to be honest, I think I just want to forget about this trip. I'm not one to trash someone for no reason. Telling my story to other people is the only recourse I have. I want as many people to know my story as possible. Stay away from Captain Joe Holly and Badman Charters.
Posted by RobF at 04:22 PM | Comments (0) | TrackBack
May 04, 2005
Tin Soldiers
Happy May 4!
If you happen to run into any hippies on the street, be sure to hurl bottles, bricks and cement-filled cups of protruding nails in remembrance of the 1970 Kent State “massacre”.
I wonder how history would read today if the National Guard had barricaded the protesting students, machine gunned them, then burned all of them alive?
Funny how Nixon was supposedly responsible for the death of four students but the Clinton administration had their hands tied.
%$#& mainstream media…
Posted by RobF at 12:48 PM | Comments (0) | TrackBack
May 03, 2005
Slow News Week
A police detective viewer emailed Fox and Friends this morning and claimed that runaway bride Jennifer Willbanks and her fiance John Mason probably planned this stunt all along in hopes that they would get a book deal and a bunch of money. It makes perfect sense to me. At least it's a hell of a lot easier to believe than the fact that the dude would just give her the diamond back and marry her after she made a complete ass out of him on national news.
Myself? I'd sell the ring and put her back on the Greyhound bus with just enough money to buy a happy meal. Good luck sweetie, don't forget to never call, speak, or write to me again kay?
I guess this is the kind of crap we have to endure on slow news weeks. Slow white trash and their oh, so creepy prollems.
Posted by RobF at 02:25 PM | Comments (0) | TrackBack