You’ve watched them gash bosom and plea with club personnel at every meeting. Each plaintive cry falling on deaf ears – and then some poor SOB that’s not there nominated to be the “Youth Coordinator.”
… a title reasonably vague, implying something to do with finding kids that want to unplug long enough to take up the sport.
It’s the greatest hypocrisy of all. Old guys hate kids, wives, and all familial responsibility, which is why they’re at the club in the first place. “Kids” being equally vague – as the usual measurement of years is often superseded by, “is the inattentive little twit related to me.”
Most of us have seen it, and many more have felt it. Perhaps its time we use that looseness in definition to our own ends.
I’m on the receiving end of a brief (albeit wheedling) email that insists it’s time to take some local gentlemen fishing again. This fellow being a work in progress, with an attention span of six minutes, reflexes of a Pterodactyl, with the appreciation and refinement of a Visigoth.
Kind of like a kid – only older.
It’s raining and cold outside, and I figure being housebound with spouse and kids has finally drove him over the edge. Only Wild Men intentionally expose themselves to inclement weather – and leaves me wondering whether we should be focusing on adults that haven’t fished – versus kids that would rather not …
I read further and his sudden passion is liquor related. Dry Fly distilling to be exact, which we assume tastes twice as good if you know how to fish – versus merely swilling it as a soulless Kayaker, or dog walker.
But we’re still golden. “Youth Coordinator” now being synonymous with wet bar and the tinkle of ice cubes, and whatever quota of recruits necessary can be shanghaied by them left standing.
… and the problem becomes keeping the regular membership distant. Compared to cramped chairs, congealing Beef Au Jus, and discussing the dining habits of Poodles with Bob’s wife, them youth meetings will be a lively affair.
Tags: fly fishing clubs, youth coordinator, Dry Fly distilling, artisanal liquor, Wild Men of fly fishing, club dinners, fly fishing humor
*Next Up on Singlebarbed*
Distilling your own Vodka: Step One – Build a pot-still using your wife’s pots and pans and a roll of copper gas tubing from ebay.
Stay tuned for the following week where we discuss how to use your coffee grinder to render helpless grains into fermentable chunks.
Well done! Have you read my short story on the fishing club?
http://classicangler.blogspot.com/2009/12/rejuvenation.html
Erik,
That’s a clever yarn – and melding the two suggests a swinging singles night? Advertised as a Swinging Reduced Dress No Hoster..
Oooo. I like that. The Scandinavian tube top fly tiers host the reduced dress married fiber mixer. Might work…
I am not sure, but I think I resemble that comment.
It would not be a stretch: a “mature” co-worker used to often tell me that every day was a whole new world to me.
I assume it was not meant in an endearing manner, but I took it to mean that I was acting forever young (yet old enough to legally purchase distilled spirits).
I KNOW that I resemble the whole schmagega. But, if you’ve been near the current crop of 16 year old males, you might be ready for a barrel and a bung.
I also helped raise 3 daughters, so I’m no longer, a “bear with furniture”. I’m just the crazed old fart who’d rather fish, or light out on his motorcycle. Maybe, both-I’ve done it. And, that’s another story.
When they’re young enough not to be addicted to video games, some of them are trainable. However, as soon as they discover that they have opposable thumbs and/or reach puberty, the game is over. I’m hopeful that, if given the chance to breed, their children all run away to join the circus.
Excuse me. I’ve got to check the current batch of home-brew.