Fishing being a more painful variant of masochism, whose practitioners lust for big fish knowing they’re accompanied by hardship; cold rain, poisonous snakes, blisters, and other trappings of kink, yet are still at a loss to explain its attraction to normal folks.
While traveling last week, I did have time to inhale a small salad while enjoying the banks of the mighty Eel River. In between bites I noticed a bit of motion in the water and am rendered vengeful and solemn by the sight of 200 large salmon milling in a circle only feet away …
Nothing like a fish that appears to be six inches wide at the back to give a fellow real trouble swallowing lettuce …
My accomplice was oblivious to the spectacle as he was negotiating three inches of rare roast beef and a monstrous hard roll, while giggling at my self-inflicted dietary choice. Suddenly one of the larger fish comes cleans out of the water and dampens us both …
“Dude, that was a salmon.”
I nodded the affirmative as he noticed all the other fish leisurely rolling in contentment, finning their way over to give me the finger, then swimming a lazy circle to repeat the insult.
He exclaimed, “ I can run us back to Fortuna and you can buy a rod and reel, and we could be back in an hour…”
I shook my head, “No, fishing is a karmic-Zen-Masochistic thing – and while I don’t expect a non-fisherman to understand; the reason the fish are here is because I lack my fishing gear. In physical terms, both fish and fishing tackle are positively charged ions – and can never occupy the same space – nor get close enough to one another to cause harm – as their natural state repels the other.
If I had brought the gear we’d be standing in a torrential downpour with a flat tire, fishless – or that prominent badge on your truck would cause Weott’s version of “Jimmy Olsen Cub Reporter” to stop and immortalize us for the six o’clock news and the both of us holding big dripping fish and a pink slip …
Driving to Fortuna is for godless amateurs – who’ve not fished enough to learn this truism …”
At this point he’s looking at me fixedly, jaw open and roast beef visible, “OMFG, that’s some serious hokey horseshit,” he says.
I’d tried to explain it and failed. Now I was content to wave as the fish swam past knowing it as a quasi-religious truth recognizable only by those that believe. Not the old-timey religious types – more like those that are fool enough to stand in cold water and have done so enough times to recognize this immutable Law of Nature.
Exactly…nuff said.
In physical terms, both fish and fishing tackle are positively charged ions – and can never occupy the same space… I’ve always suspected as much, but it’s good to finally get confirmation from a credible source.
Immutable Law of Nature indeed.
Too funny. Ions explain so much about steelhead fishing that I’ve always wondered about.
However, at the risk of being labled pedantic and anal, just have to ask. What exactly is a poisonous snake? To the best of my knowledge there is no such thing in North America. Lots of venomous snakes though. Like I said…
A venomous snake is the obvious timber rattler or California equivalent.
A “poisonous snake” is the fellow that takes your last Brindle Bug, the last sandwich, or the last beer …
Jeebus, call yourself an outdoorsman?
So much metaphysical wisdom in this post…I stand in awe….
Ah so. In my neck of the woods we just refer to them as “A-Hole” and stick a knife in their waders when they aren’t looking. Usually when they are tying on on your last brindle bug or snarfing down the last sandwich…