Them prospective advertisers can breath easy knowing Singlebarbed has sold his immortal soul (again) and embraced the “Now.” It’s been a steady diet of supermodel’s, tea socials, and autograph hounds – now that we’re gracing the cover of “Foreclosed Real Estate Weekly” – expect us to trade greasy ball caps for Armani, baby.

I’m expecting rarified treatment, and if my sagging maleness taut and predatory profile adorns your child’s bedroom wall, it’s not of my doing…

That’s 27″ inches of golden tee – landed after an arduous chase down the fast water. Drag friction baked the enamel off the ancient CFOIV I was using; “click and pawl” is like the SR71 spy plane, you have to repaint it after every fight.

The other 63 stills involved me subduing it with big stream rocks, but for brevity they’ve been omitted.

The “Underwear” surrendered her treasures all weekend and I lolled in her chilly bosom slurping up what I could. SMJ and his friend Neal showed Saturday – and were a little shaken when I landed two “wifebeater” tee shirts in rapid succession. I figure most readers assume I’ve a penchant for exaggerating horribly…

.. and they’d be correct, most of the time.

The theme was “golden” and persisted both days. I fair hooked a monstrous Golden Salmon, whose season remains open despite all other Salmon fishing being closed. Regular salmon didn’t learn the lessons of the European aristocracies – most are anemic or “bleeders” and are on the wane – leaving all that river and clean water to their golden inferior mouthed brethren.

A shad “carrot” stripped at blazing speed was his undoing – and as the take was nearly on the surface there wasn’t much doubt of my good fortune.

Scrub a Brownliner up all sweet smelling and clean – and he’ll find something as long as your leg with an inferior mouth cohabitating with them gleaming pristine fish.

Cue the happy dance …

I saw my first Hex on the river. I’d fished over these monstrous bugs many times on Fall River, but it was the first time I’d encountered one on the Underwear. It collided with me while I was waist deep and nearly knocked me over.

Largely nocturnal as they’re clumsy, slow to fly and an enormous meal, likely waking up anything that’s got a yen for Mayfly. Knowing they’re about adds some interest to the muddy stretches of the river – required for burrowing mayflies.

You’ve got to work for your fish of late, the flows have dropped by half and the fish are likely repositioning themselves into the deeper stretches. The morning bite has slowed, but flurries of activity occur when least expected.

Colors remain Pink and Orange, and I keep changing from one to the other just to try some of the oddball stuff I keep dreaming up.

SMJ’s timely gift of two pounds of Peet’s coffee has me on an inventive streak, but the Shad’s unsophisticated taste buds means everything works, which is a fly tier’s worst nightmare.

Even the tee shirts and socks strike whatever’s thrown, so I’ll keep adding to the candidate pool hoping something winds up the clear cut winner. Until then carry both Orange and Pink – as both seem to work fine.

All this largesse should have me basking in a golden glow all work week – buying me precious hours to repair wrists, set bones, and allowing the Ben Gay to take the edge off of “Sellout Boy” and his weekend of infamy.