Bird Man.

The Bird Man says he'll fly in any weather.



It takes a big Slovak bicep to crank in golden rainbows and big-bellied smallmouth, and it takes a big Slovak liver to drink the way big Jay Jurchak does it. There is no doubt the Bird Man illustrates a perfect balance between lake shore cruisin' and heavy boozin'. Of course, when you come from a big family of rustic Slovak farmers, fishing and staying intoxicatedly refreshed are esential for a good crop.



The Bird Man steps lightly and carries a big stick. You may not hear his voice carry far over the waters of the North Branch like Flintlock's and Mud Dog's, he may not taunt and poke like the other Harding Boys. But you'll see his dented truck parked at the boat launch, bumper hanging low and crooked and maybe a headlight dangling from it's wire--twirling and flashing in the early morning sun. Last night was a rough ride, but the Bird Man made it to the launch, ready to set out on the waters of his native river in hopes of native fish or at least to fish off the nasty headache that the native whiskey has afforded him.







When you run into the Bird Man, please throw him a beer or give him a spark of his smoke. You may ask him where the smallies are hitting, or what they're biting on, but on this account you won't get very close to the truth. In fact, the Bird Man will most likely reply, "don't worry about it." And if this is the case, don't worry about it.



Just crack your beer and cheers with the Bird Man, "SMASHNA!" Because drinking away a hangover on the river is tasty. And Slovak is beautiful.