Welcome to Peska Collective

My name is Rolando (Roland) Jimenez, though most people know me simply as “Bones.” I’m genuinely glad you’re here. That means more to me than you probably realize.

If you’ve read the About page, this is the rest of the story.

Where it all began.

I’ve loved fishing for as long as I can remember. Some of my earliest memories are Sunday mornings with my dad at a small lake called Lake Casa Blanca in Laredo, Texas. Stanley, as they called him, became my personal icon for all things fishing. But for him, it was always about keeping it simple. Minnows, bobbers, beer (Big Red for me) and a bag of pork rinds. Nothing fancy, nothing complicated. Just time together outdoors, by the water, in appreciation of it all.

My dad’s gone now, but those moments never left. 

There aren’t any photos from my childhood fishing days with my dad, but those memories are clear to me as ever. In this photo, I carried on those same simple experiences with him well into his 80s, joined by my late father-in-law. 

A new chapter.

As I got older, fishing started to change. In my teens and early twenties, it became more about friends, a few too many beers, and the stories we’d tell later. It was fun, no doubt, but it was different. Less about the authenticity of being out in nature and more about just enjoying the moment.

Then somewhere along the way, it shifted again. It became about the gear. The setups. The latest tech. The coolest brands. The biggest fish. Eventually, it even became my career.

For nearly two decades, I worked in the fishing and kayak industry. I was part of the products, the launches, the marketing, the commerce, and the grind of it all. And while there were a lot of great moments along the way, something started to fade, it lost a bit of its soul.

But things changed again.

As I got older, I found myself drawn to fly fishing. There was something about it that pulled me in, something I hadn’t felt in years. It felt more honest. More grounded. The gear was simple, though not always cheap, but I came to appreciate the minimalism of it.

It wasn’t about how big the fish was anymore. It was about being present. About standing in the water and noticing things I had overlooked for years. The way light dances across the surface at sunset. The beauty in the details of the fish themselves. The sound of leaves in the trees, what my dad used to say sounded like “campanas,” (bells) and the soft trickle of a shallow stream.

It forced me to slow down.

And in doing that, it changed how I saw everything. I started to notice the natural artistry in it all. The patterns, the movement, the way everything works together. It aligned with how I had begun to see life. A desire to slow down. To appreciate the small things, especially in nature.

Don’t get me wrong, I still love modern gear. High-performance rods and reels. The power of a petrol outboard skimming across the bay in chase of the reds. But for the first time in a long time, it all felt balanced again.

This time, it wasn’t just about fishing.

It became about the lifestyle. The experience. The things that represent what I loved about it all along, being in nature and truly appreciating it.

I realized I wasn’t just chasing fish anymore. I was chasing everything that came with it.

I’ve always loved art, though maybe not in the traditional sense. Not galleries or modern installations, but something more raw and true to its form. The art of nature. And the way it carries through the hands of people who appreciate that.

You see it in watercolor bleeding into textured paper, capturing the layered colors of a rainbow trout. In the finest details of a handmade lure. In the craftsmanship of a handmade knife. In the quiet elegance of a traditional wooden net, built to serve a purpose, yet beautiful enough to hang on the wall.

That intersection, between nature, craft, and experience, that’s what stayed with me.

It slowly started showing up in my life. In my clothes, in the decals on my vehicles and coolers, in my garage, even in my office. In the small details that reflected who I was without me having to say a word. Though it wasn’t for anyone else, it was simply for me. A way to bring a piece of the water, and the fish I pursue, back inside. A way to feel it, even when I wasn’t there.

Lost and found.

In December 2025, I became a full-time marketing and creative consultant, focused on the outdoor industry. I couldn’t be happier. But for the first time in a long time, I felt a little lost. I’ve always had direction, always known where I was headed. This time, I didn’t. I still love what I do and will continue doing it, but I knew something was missing. I needed something more. Something I could grow with. Something that would not only inspire my work, but something that felt deeply rooted in who I am.

During the holiday break of 2025, as approached the new year, my wife and I spent a lot of time talking about what was next. She reminded me of something I had overlooked, my ability to create. To build. To tell stories. My experience in marketing, in content, in building brands and managing e-commerce businesses. My passion for the outdoors, for art, for craftsmanship, and for the details that make things meaningful.

My wife is my rock, my best friend, my inspiration. She’s been by my side through every trial and tribulation, supporting me in all my wild ideas, career moves, and my constant need to explore. She knows me better than anyone. She knows I’m not one to sit still, to wait, or to rest. I need to do. I need to create. And once again, she believed in me before I fully believed in myself.

When I shared the concept of Peska, she immediately leaned in. She wanted to be part of it. And as an artist, she brought it to life in a way only she could, painting three incredibly beautiful watercolor paintings of a bass, redfish and trout to help kick off what would become our collective.

That gesture meant everything to me. She believed in the idea. She inspired me. But more than anything, she believed in me.

Peska was born.

A hub. A place where artists, crafters, makers, and designers can showcase and sell their work alongside thoughtfully selected gear, gifts, and provisions. Pieces that don’t just serve a function, but carry a feeling. Objects that represent more than the act of fishing, but the lifestyle that surrounds it.

Peska exists for those who see fishing as more than a pursuit, but a way of life. We curate thoughtfully designed creations, provisions and gear for anglers who value aesthetics and craftsmanship as much as function, guided by a deep respect for our waterways and the fish we pursue.

Peace, tight lines and good vibes,
Roland “Bones” Jimenez