It’s entitled, “Extreme Rock Fishing” – there’s a rock, some fishing, and it’s got a Metallica riff in the background. The words aren’t supposed to be a sentence – which is why it’s so difficult to understand.
It’s extreme because it has an bootlegged Metallica song – you can’t have elevator music or a light pop tune, it doesn’t make the participants on the fringe of society, isolated … a shining beacon of light in a dismal sea of conformity.
… and when Lars finds out you didn’t pay royalties for his tune, a very conformist brigade of lawyers in his employ will bust a cap in your bottom. Lars likes his music, but likes money better.
There’s a big rock in deep water, accessible only by boat – giving the extreme-carousing fishermen a chance to hide the jug if their spouse comes looking.
Rods and detached reel are bolted to the rock so that when the extreme drinking reaches a fever pitch, nobody kicks someone’s tackle into the depths when reaching for munchies or attempting to pee.
We did this in High School, only we called it “Extreme Muni Pier Fishing.” You take two cases of beer, mix that with a fifth of apricot brandy or Peppermint Schnapps, 3 pounds of raw squid, big hooks, and a boat rod.
When the squid tasted good, it meant you’d had too much to drink.
Of course chumming was illegal, vomiting wasn’t.
… and Mr. Merwin, the rod is there to keep the “million pound test” line off the rocks. Large fish plus tight line touching rock equals severed line and the angler missing a limb when the tension is released.
It appears the fish are cranked in close by the winch, the rod is lifted so they can gaff the beast, then it’s hand over hand from there.
I think “Extreme Lawn Chair Drinking” and the extreme hangover that followed is one of the reasons I gravitated to fly fishing. Certainly, the light line and lack of weight made the battle with fish so much more attractive, but as wisdom overtook youth – the extreme rowboat bass drinking, and extreme sturgeon beer guzzling lost it’s luster.
I suppose some need an excuse before they’ll indulge in extreme drinking, and spending the night fishing off a rock is as good as any.
My propensity for extreme hangovers is less frequent than it used to be, primarily because I’ve developed a tolerance for cheap liquor. My drinking buddies used to rib me about my pedestrian tastes, but with the economy going south, my guess is they’ll soon be drinking off the bottom shelf as well. Whether their stomachs will be up to the task remains to be seen.
Some of us never grow up.
It’s funny, but fly fishing is the only form of fishing I’ve ever seen that doesn’t lend itself to spirits.
Must be something about setting the rod down – as that’s the only thing we never do. With only one free hand, and that occupied by the obligatory cheap cigar – it’s sobriety at its finest.
Makes you wonder if the fellow who invented the CamelBak was an alcoholic fly fisherman.
And so THAT’S why Singlebarbed refuses to share his CamelBak on our outings and becomes happier as he hydrates.
Singlebarbed has plenty of bad habits, but heavy boozin’ ain’t one of ‘em.
That’s because my Poppa suggested I save one vice for my golden years. I tried to do them all at once and failed – his counsel was to take them on in serial – rather than parallel.
…”take them on cereally”…
In the CamelBak is one thing…
but on your cereal???