It’s too damn convenient a tale not to have some kind of unsavory involved. No one busts a rod without pointing fingers and wailing horribly, and the deadpan delivery aroused my suspicions:
Adding to the Extreme Fishing Situation (imagine a rock soundtrack playing under this report) was the oddly pleasant high-modulus “crack” generated when a high-end graphite rod simply snapped in half when my big, burly, sinewy, extremely manly arms attempted a hookset into a big, big brown trout.
…then there’s the ever present food reference – with the implication that downing a brace of “bacon” dogs was positively drenched in testosterone.
“[Name Redacted]” was the final straw, some shadowy figure conveniently unavailable to corroborate any of the stories posted to date, culminating in the “18 hour gap” between the last known escapade and a furtive arrival in California…
I could swear there’s a naked woman in the reflection of that trout’s eye – either that or it’s a partially dressed slaw dog. I think we’re owed an explanation ..or two…
No, no… nothing happened. The trip went off exactly as planned, with no untoward or odd moments. None. Zilch.
Move along now, nothing to see, move along…
“Adding to the Extreme Fishing Situation (imagine a rock soundtrack playing under this report) was the oddly pleasant high-modulus “crack” generated when a high-end graphite rod simply snapped in half when my big, burly, sinewy, extremely manly arms attempted a hookset into a big, big brown trout.”
That’s how I broke my rod too, but I thought “fell on my ass and snapped it on a rock” sounded better.
SMJ: It sounded truthful. Blog authors “sip” hamburgers, and crap “delicately” – it’s all part of that angling mystique thing.
Your blatant cynicism weakens us all. Where’s the camaraderie? Where’s that whole band of fly fishing brothers support?
And truly, you should have been there for the noise. Both [name redacted] and I still marvel at the sound.