We were going fishing anyway. This is about making memories, keeping the stories, and appreciating that we get to do this. If it helps pay for the next trip, hell yes.
START A TRIP →Let's get something straight: I wasn't waiting on a business plan to go fishing. I was gonna buy the gas, drag the boat to the lake, and probably stop for something I absolutely did not need on the way.
It's not the money. It's the memories we're making. Would I pay for those memories? Hell yeah. Let's run it.
“Can fishing pay for fishing?” gives us something to chase. The memories are what we're out here for.
It's another day fishing with my dad. Another trip with my brother. Mushy doing something we'll never let him forget. The whole crew laughing over something that's about to become another story. And around here, those stories usually start the same way: “You ain't gonna believe this shit.” Or, “You ain't gonna believe what happened.”
It's remembering who was in the boat—not just what came over the side.
That's why we're recording the trips, taking the pictures, writing the stories, and putting some of this nonsense into songs. Someday, I want to hear that laugh again. See that fish again. Remember exactly why somebody yelled “DAMMIT MUSHY!” from the other end of the boat.
A picture of a largemouth is good. A video of your dad holding it while your brother gives him hell in the background? That's the stuff I want to keep.
We get to do this. We get to load up, spend time together, and watch the sun come up somewhere we're happy to be. It's easy to forget how much that means while you're complaining about the wind or picking thirty dollars' worth of line out of a reel.
I don't want to forget.
If the shirts, videos, and everything we're building help cover the next trip, hell yes. That means we get to do more of it. But a weekend doesn't have to turn a profit to have been worth every damn penny.
We'll keep track of the money. We're building this so we can keep the memories, too.
I'm Matt. I like fishing, I like this crew, and I'd like to spend more time doing both without every weekend requiring a small financial recovery period.
Crook'd Hook'r is where those things come together. We're building around actual trips: the preparation, the drive, the launch, the fish, the missed fish, and whatever Mushy just dropped.
A day on the water can become a trip story, a useful lake report, a video, a lesson about a bait, a shirt somebody wants, or a song about a weekend we probably should've handled differently.
The idea is to give each trip a little more life after the boat's back on the trailer. Ideally, that life comes with gas money.
Depends. Are we answering honestly, or are we standing next to someone who shares our household expenses?
Truck fuel before the boat ever gets wet. Then boat fuel, entry fees, ramp fees, lodging, food, ice, tackle, line, batteries, storage cards, repairs, and whatever quit working immediately before we needed it.
Cameras to document the fishing. Electronics to find the fish. Mounts to hold the cameras documenting us looking at the electronics trying to find the fish. The fish, meanwhile, have contributed nothing.
“I needed it” may explain a purchase. It does not erase it.
We want to account for the real costs of the trips, the equipment, and the work involved in making something people can watch and use. The score above currently reflects recorded expenses and revenue on public trips whose owners have opted to share costs, for this calendar year.
It isn't every dollar this crew has ever spent. An incomplete ledger isn't a profit. Neither is a good excuse.
Count the real costs. Count the real earnings. Explain what the numbers include. Don't manufacture catches, results, or success stories.
Financial totals are public only when the trip owner enables cost sharing. Receipts, vendor details, and private trip information stay private.
We can exaggerate how personally a missed fish offended us. We cannot exaggerate the revenue.
Granddaddy is a big reason I got back into fishing. Another day with my dad is worth more than the weigh-in slip. He also keeps fresh line in circulation at a rate the tackle industry surely appreciates.
Marshall, a.k.a. Moo, is my brother and the mechanical engineer. If something needs a bracket, a mount, wiring, or a more complicated way to deploy, he's your man. Granddaddy can't hear him, he mumbles, and somehow they continue operating a boat together.
Mushy is a regular fishing partner and a recurring reason to check whether the camera was recording. “DAMMIT MUSHY!” is becoming less of an outburst and more of a filing system.
T comes fishing and leaves with material. After riding with Marshall, he may also leave wondering whether the boat has another gear.
Bailey, a.k.a. Happy Happy, is part of the Thursday-night history and the extended fishing family. Getting busy may cut into fishing time. It does not remove you from the stories.
Danielle, a.k.a. 11: the nickname is a volume setting. The crew already had cameras. Apparently, we also needed surround sound.
And me? I tried to make more time for fishing by adding filming, editing, trip logs, apparel, and a website. Apparently, my solution to having a job was to build several smaller jobs around a boat.
Old Hickory is home water. Thursday nights at Flipper's are part of our history. Chickamauga holds the birthday-trip memories and the morning the Crooked Hooker name went on the boat.
Pickwick helped supply the name. Guntersville supplied enough material to require its own story. Eufaula gave us tournament memories and a reason to keep chasing another check.
Some trips produce fish. Some produce lessons. Some produce a photograph that will follow a crew member for the rest of their natural life.
The drive counts. The ramp counts. The rental house, the lost tackle, the good meal, and the running joke on the way home all belong in the story. We're documenting where we went, who went, what happened, what worked, and what the trip cost when those figures are shared.
We're working on turning cameras full of footage into trip records people can actually follow: sorting video, identifying catches and other moments, matching them to the trip timeline, and pulling out the parts worth watching.
We're keeping track of recording time and storage, too, because apparently a fishing trip can now come home with homework measured in gigabytes.
Alongside the footage, we're building lake information, fishing reports, tournament coverage, and planning tools to help make the next trip better informed. The stories and songs keep the people in it.
If we know something, explain where it came from. If we're guessing, call it a guess. If we didn't catch anything, the editing software doesn't get to catch one for us.
Tournament winnings, apparel sales, useful content, sponsorships, and partnerships that fit what we actually do could help fund more time on the water.
Those are ways this could work. They aren't earnings until money comes in.
Covering the fuel is progress. Covering an entry fee is progress. Funding an entire trip would be a milestone worth making some noise about.
Immediately spending it on another piece of equipment would be extremely on brand.
We've got the boat, the crew, the stories, and a well-established ability to spend money. Now we're putting the work into the other side of the equation.
If it helps pay for the next trip, that's more time together. If a weekend never makes a dollar but gives us a story we'll tell for twenty years, that weekend still did its job.
Fish more. Keep the receipts. Keep the memories.
