I see it as using turn signals in the city, all you’re really doing is giving information to the enemy…
Picture that rarified hour before dark, the lake is a sheet of glass, the fish are feeding in earnest, and tippet looks like winch cable on the surface. It’s “perfect” time, in 60 minutes either your execution is perfect, or you’re perfectly frustrated, it’s the only possible outcomes.
I’m focused on willing my 6X to be 9X, and someone to my right starts speaking:
“Yea, and remember my idiot sister with the cleft palate, well she married that loser dude you met. Yep, the short guy with the nose ring, that’s the one.”
Incredulous would be the operative word, some fellow 300 yards distant appears to have a two way radio glued to his ear, chatting with a buddy in a float tube. Conversational tones carry at least a half mile, and he’s emptying the family closet for the entire lake to hear.
“%$#*, I missed one.”
At this point, assorted Mom’s are hustling kids away from the shoreline, and I’m wondering whether my destiny will be, “%$#@, the fat guy next to me caught another ^%$# fish.”
Technology is a wonderful thing … at times. It holds much promise, but like the Atom Bomb, not everyone that can afford it should own one.
The running diatribe pauses long enough for me restore “last hour’s bliss” and I managed to fool a nice rainbow with a Pheasant tail. Sliding the fish back into the water the silence is punctuated with more blathering:
“Naw, I’m using a dry, I’ve never caught %$#& with Pheasant Tails, that what you’re using? &%@#, I missed another one.”
Well that confirms everything they’ve said about distracted drivers talking on cell phones, my discomfort is fading a bit with each announced muff – it’s irritating, but Loudmouth has his pants around his ankles for the amusement of all within earshot.
“OBAMA? %@*& him, I can’t believe you buy into that liberal &^%#*, Jesus.”
I can’t help you pal, once religion and politics dominate the conversation, you’re on your own.
… Hell, I can’t see my tippet anyways, time to call it a night.
Frustrating that some idiots refuse to take their brain along with them when they go fishing. I mean, it ruins your day, it ruins the day of everyone around them….and what quicker way is there to ruin an outdoor adventure of any kind than to bring up politics? To my knowledge there is none.
I applaud the idea, but the execution was flawed. There’s nothing you can say that won’t get you into trouble with someone who’s forced to listen.
I remember sitting on a train in front of a guy who spent an hour on the cell phone yelling at his ex-wife (spitting out such wonderful turns of phrase as, “Have you looked at your family, they’re *&^%ed up!” and “$@^% you! I know I shouldn’t a done it, but I don’t regret it.”) I always thought part of the point of fishing was getting away from that kind of crap, but when it starts to follow you to the water, God help us all . . .
With your advanced knowledge of all things technical you might consider packing a small, radio-controlled submarine that could deliver a nice payload with about the same grace that my doc uses to ply my prostrate annually, apparently looking for his car keys.
It would seem that a person otherwise distracted with an animated cell phone call whose posterior is hanging well into the water would provide a great target of opportunity and some sense of satisfaction—hopefully not too much, though—to the triggerman.
Something about you and stillwaters. At least no one was shooting at you.
It may be that once I park myself in the lake, there’s a big brown ring left on the shoreline. I always assumed it was the other guy what done it.
Irate boat owners most likely, knowing they’ll have to scrub it off..