there is a saying that adventure travel is only adventurous after the fact. during the trip it is more like a day-long pain in the butt. sometimes fly fishing is like that. it is not until the last rays of the sun (or later for those madison river evenings) slip away that the day starts to become fishing stories. gathered with friends around a table of food and drink the eats become more epic, the flies smaller, the wind louder, the misses more painful and the mistakes become more hilarious. it is here in this moment that the memories are cast. and it is here in this place, at this time that you need a cold one, a fried one and one on a bun. or something like that. Follow my blog with bloglovin

Hebgen Lake, Montana

The Happy Hour Burger
A sample of the wall and a pint of amber
Fried Creamed Corn. I kid you not.
The Happy Hour Bar. They call ya "hun" and "dear." They use old-fashioned diner order slips. Polaroids of boobs n' butts adorn the walls. They serve a fancy "something or other" cocktail in a copper mug. It is popular with the friendly HD crowd. It is dark and cool. The waitresses are appropriately surely. There is a deck overlooking the lake where you can see all of the gulpers you missed that day. The staff plays wii when they are not busy. And did I mention the polaroids? But really all you need to know after a long day wrestling trout on the lake or along the Madison is this this little overheard exchange. 
Customer, "I'd like a frazzlerazzleupsidedown whatever."
Bartender, "Why can't people drink normal shit?"

No comments:

Post a Comment