Sunday, January 31, 2010

Jims, Jimsalad and the Origin thereof


So if you've read the blog more than half of one time you've probably noticed I use the word Jims fairly routinely, typically to describe, backwards, rednecky or otherwise moronic people. I say it so often in day to day talk that friends of mine start saying it without even knowing it. The word comes from a dear friend and honorary Northwest steelhead fisherman Jon JimSalad Goin.

Now anyone who regularly fishes for steelhead on this continent will have come across their fair share of characters on the river. So from time to time we'll be having a special feature called "Best Jim Moments" in which we describe the some of the finest "Jim"like behavior observed during our otherwise serene river visit. This weeks Jim moment is simple on the origin of Jims.

(Based on a True story)
As I said before, the word was invented by our dear, californian friend Jon and his cousin John. The two of them were visiting Yosemite for their first time and decided to take a hike. Being outdoorsy types, ambitious hikers and generally badass dudes they decided to take a steep trail to what the guidebook described as an epic view of halfdome. The hike was roughy 3-7 miles depending on who you ask, but whats certain is the large number of switchbacks and lung burning climbing. Upon arriving at their final destination, tired, and prepared to have their minds blown they discovered that since their guidebook had been published (1972ish) a road had been built to the vista which now allowed to tourbuses, rental cars, concessionaires and huge masses of obese, visor wearing, Americana.

Pissed but resigned to their mistake the John(Jon)s set to trying to enjoy the view anyway. Unfortunately one family provided continual disruption as the mom, overweight in a brightly colored mumu with a shrill new jersey accent nagged her husband, Jim to get their out of control 9 year old Jimmy under control.

"Jim, tell Jimmy not to Run?"
"Jim, look at Jimmy throwing rocks, look how far they're falling!"

"Thats a good boy now Jimmy, throw them farther."

The John(on)s watched in horror as the projectiles disappeared from sight into the village below. Their blood boiling with frustration at the crowds and the obnoxious family, the two reached a tipping point when in the midst of the grandeur of Yosemite's Peaks they heard the mother proclaim,

"Look Jim! There's there's the hotel, you can see the swimming pool!"

The John(on)s looked at eachother and simultaneously prclaimed,

"Fucking JIM".

and marched to the bottom of the mountain without stopping. From that day on, Jim has grown in its uses and popularity. Thanks Jon for your contribution to our group of degenerate river rats.
Enjoying puget sounds "greatest" wild salmon fishery

We call Jon the honorary Pacific Northwesterner because he made an honest to god attempt to move to Seattle. For two years he and his lovely wife (then fiance) Amy lived in a sweet little house in lower Queen Anne. Frustrated by the lack of job prospects in the area, poor weather and worse fishing, they decided to move south for better jobs. Sadly, Jon decided to move to the Seattle area during the worst two year stretch of steelhead fishing in recent memory, and probably ever. After moving from Arcata where winter and summer runs had been excellent, it was a rude shock to find himself in the seemingly fishless Puget Sound area. They now live in the heinously overcrowded, inferno known as Southern California, luckily the mans a surfer as well. I also hear there's a little Jimmy or Jimette on the way, congratulations guys.

what a JIM


  1. That is the greatest story I have ever of a guy that I can call a friend. here is to all the John(Jon)s and none of the Jim's.

  2. This is too funny, after knowing Jim, or Jon I should say, while he lived in Santa Cruz I to tend to say Jim from time to time and I get the strangest looks from my friends that never had the chance to know Jon Goin. The only friends of mine that truly understand what a "Jim" is are the ones that remember the John Jon's driving away from our house ( back in a quiet Santa Cruz mountain community) at 1 am with an intoxicated Jon hanging out the window yelling something (probably yelling meatsalad or who knows what) and I believe honking the horn. Those are my only friends that really get it.