I’m rethinking all the bustle and commotion over how we’re no longer practicing something our Poppa once did. How our doing without Twinkies and store-bought Latte makes today’s outdoors an expedition on par with Shackleton’s Voyage, extreme survival, mere fishing transformed into an adrenalin-fueled primeval.
Competition and adrenalin is what we truly crave, fishing is just a means of getting there …
Fishing lacks the broken bones and has no contact between anglers, no pads or face masks, and doesn’t look much better under the hot Klieg lights of television, with few saints and less demigods – and no one trading paint in the pit area…
But they may have a point.
My generation picked fishing so we could decompress from both family and work – preferring the solitude and silence the Great Outdoors offered to heal the soul so we could return to the Big City fit for another grueling tour.
Somehow the “Rest and Relaxation” became today’s competitive and arduous, compliments of youth-oriented marketing and a generation that measured their worth in how much they owe versus how much they bank.
But that’s merely sour grapes, given the ability to “unplug” is fast disappearing, complements of satellites and broadband, and “them as inherits” might have had the right idea about the woods all along…
Most of the Pristine is on its last legs and requires tackle that can ferret out those few remaining fish from super-deep or super-fast, neither of which fly fishing has been any good at …
… which may explain why 3/8 ounce jig heads are considered flies, given that this new fishing lets us bring guns to gun fights …
I think I’ll dispense with the closetful of high-tech fabrics, the illegal SWAT gear, and those hideously expensive fly rods, which will get us clear of the adrenalin junkies who insist matching the hatch involves base-jumping with Mayflies …
We can watch them plummet earthward while we rest easy in our lawn chair and reacquaint ourselves with inexpensive rods, cold beer, and the new bait fishing …
That ain’t anything your Daddy fished …
The new EXTREME bait fishing made so by enormous amounts of Soy and your propensity towards flatulence …
The only real difficulty will be humping that cooler down from the parking lot now that we’re done with all the deprivation and Mother Nature crap. Fabric-based solar panels will energize our civilized comforts that accompany us back to the creek. Cell phones and Microwaves, televised football blaring while we ignore the rod and reach for a double fistful of those Spicy Peanut numbers – followed by the White Chocolate.
Poppa never had it so good. Potted meat and soggy bread, branch water and a long hike upstream to get away from us truly comfortable and well-rested angling types …
Fly fishing competitions – phooey!
Combat fly fishing – no thanks!
I’ll keep my head in the sand, thank you very much.
Hey now I’m a “young guy”, I think, I’m 32 and I can’t stand the new music! I see drones following every magazine, scuse me Ezine add like it was gospel. Arguring over large arbor retrieve rates and the difference between Euro-nymphing and Czech nymphing. I hear things like “no don’t use that they’ve seen it a thousand times”, sure but whens the last time a fish saw it drifting properly. I see all these new brooms, young and old, suiting up in the parking lot taking a half an hour to look over their entire selection of flies (if you would even call them that anymore). They swagger down to the water clinging and clanging like an old steam engine or a school janitor with hip displacea. Thingamabobbers litter the trees like crappy christmas decorations. They ask if I had any luck I say sure a 22 Griffins Gnat and out comes the iphone to check in with the pattern data base app, telling me that they shouldn’t be hatching due to the barametric pressure. I hate it, these people have taken something so simple and turned into a complicated mess. So you old guys you have to hang around you have to keep that presense going, if for nothingelse that I have someone to talk to in the parking lot. Someone who speaks fly fishing not tech!
Now that you mention it, John Wayne preferred corn dodgers. A little True Grit would be ok…Right?
What ever the hell happened to Trail Mix ? Don’t you parking-lot pioneers remember how the west was won with Trail Mix, a frying pan and those little packages of dried oatmeal ?
The part that scared me was the Green Lipped Mussels. Has anyone ever seen a mussel in a frenzy? “The Original and The Best”? Doyathink?!?
There are usually better options. Like the Little Store in Willminton, NY where you can get a great sandwich and a cuppa for well under 10 bucks.
Or, just pick a fishing town that’s near your water choice and get a cooler and support your local deli?
There might even be a Whole Foods, Trader Joes, or Wegmann’s within 20 miles that you can sock up or real food before you leave home. Anything woud be better than Frenzied Sweetcorn Strawberry, what ever that is. And, what are Boilies?
“..what are Boilies?…”
how could you not…. how could….
Tutti-Frutti
Salmon caviar and black pepper
Monster squid
Tiger nut
Smokey Bacon
Coconut Cream
Chocolate malt
Strawberry delight
..they just roll off the tongue.
… or roll onto it.
Smokey Bacon or Parmachene Belle, they sound equally extreme to me.
Now, I’m sure. I don’t want to know.