I remember the four letter words I hissed when I found the saddle hackle had teeth marks on them, or the moth equivalent. Minimizing the contagion always is the priority, but rather than toss all that hard work and trimmed deer hair, I’d sealed the flies in a plastic baggy and added it to a little-used pocket in my vest.

Worst possible outcome being the moths could duke it out with Didymo and Zebra mussels while hanging in the garage … Bass poppers being at the minimum messy and time consuming to tie, and at maximum expensive as hell to replace.

The Thrill That Comes Once in a Lifetime

I found that pocket this weekend, containing both flies and left over sandwich from the weekend prior – which was added to the front pocket after we eyeballed the color of the mayonnaise (it hadn’t gone green yet).

Finding out that moth chewed bass poppers take on the mythical properties of the “the well chewed fly” , and are therefore twice as likely of catching fish and capable of fooling the most discerning palate …

… and while aloof and hard to catch bass became child’s play, we eventually ran out …

And with a last epithet I managed to snap off the last of the mange-bugs in some fish’s jaw, only to hear an audible burp and watched as our purple and white popper floated to the surface.

While thoughts of the Lady of the Lake and Excalibur came unbidden, we still had plenty of gasoline leeches for the route back to safety and the parking area.

In any other venue they would be the source of great storytelling, much beer being drankled, outright lies and falsehoods. Instead, they are something you drove over enroute to some other place, and we thanked you for it.