Couthless So and So's I curse your name!

Some dudes have no couth (ya, I don't know how to spell, but I have couth).  See, when a big trip is coming up, in fact getting close, the chatter (just like with terrorists) ramps up.  Gear reviews, map reviews, reading logs from past trips (for the hundredth time), emailing wife's of float plane pilots, even considering alternate rivers (which shall forever remain unnamed until Mike tells everyone).  But if a dude has no cooth, he'll bale on the chatter.  I mean, only nut jobs chatter with and to themselves (or on their unread blogs).  How do you keep the excitement building when one or both of your compatriots takes a trip before the big trip?!?  I mean come on- NEVER LEAVE A MAN BEHIND!  So Hondo is embarking on a tour De Torture (8 kids in a car for 9 hours to see 10 other people for 11 days- so he's not as uncouth cause that's a nightmare on elm street) but Pablo, he heads to Cuttyville in the Winds City!  I mean, how's that right?  He's hiking in one of the most remote and pristine trout waters in the west (WHICH I WILL NOT NAME) and I'm sitting here chattering to myself, on my blog, sheesh man.
 Even terrorists have enough cooth to not do an attack right before the big attack.  Man, no virgins for you boys in the after life or better yet, the fish gods will extract their due- wouldn't it be justice if only the Govna caught steelies for the first, say 2 days in AK!

Birthday Tiger

Not sure why the UnGuided has neglected their blog site, but I assure you, the adventures continue.  In April, the crew undertook a Southern Utah dirtbagging trip that consisted of climbing various cliffs and crags, though I'll let Gov write about that trip.  I'm here to report the annual Birthday Fishing trip undertaken by Pablo.

Each year, for the past unnumbered years, Pablo has spent his birthday fishing, usually with the Mule in tow. This year found them among the tiny streams of Central Utah (actual stream names will not be listed here). Friday the 6th found the partial team day-hiking downstream 3 miles to a large meadow that held the "S" curving stream and many large Cutts and Tigers.  Tigers you say?! Yes! Tiger! That horrible and deadly man-made Frankenfish, a cross between a Brook Trout and a Brown Trout, or as my father is wont to call them "German Brown Trout", (that may stem from WWII).  But I digress.
The water was high with a touch of color, but not enough to dis-wade (get it?) our intrepid anglers.  But what finally drove the two back to the campsite late that evening, was the hordes, and I do mean HORDES of mosquito's that fed on their tasty flesh.  The last words spoken at the van prior to hiking downstream were, "dude, I don't see any need to take the bug dope". Dopes indeed!
Not all was lost. Many nice fish were landed, including this MONSTER, out of the 6 ft wide creek. Though the following day brought less fish and high winds. Did I say high winds? I meant to say, gale force winds. Hey, no mosquito's though!