Clearly I got the trick rather than the treat. It’s been raining steady all weekend which has forced me to double up on the coffee and fly tying ration. In a fit of rebellion, I figured getting wet was no big thing – I’m more comfortable with a leg full of water than dry.
The Bridge Pool beckoned, and with the rain and breeze I assumed I wouldn’t have to crouch behind the abutment while Carp finned lazily giving me the finger…
Instead Humanity saw to that.
I like a goat burrito as well as the next fellow, but enriching the watershed with 400 pounds of skins, hooves, entrails, and viscera, is hardly green.
Sure, it’s recycling – but you don’t call it that when the wind shifts.
Right about then a couple of kids open up with belt fed .22’s – and I realized I was really behind on my flytying.
Did I mention that I make and sell gillie suits.
In fact, I have a wide variety of camoflage options avalible to the brownwater fisher who’s private property tresspass skills require stealth or agressive evasion tactics. Do you feel naked and exposed during a high powered rifle hatch? You can clear the parking lot as a Swamp-thing lookalike. Message Igneous Rock…you can’t argue with stone.
So I don the ghillie suit then roll in Goat guts? That’s announcing your presence with authority.
What is it with you and fishing that seems to attract gunplay?
Just far enough away from civilzation so the cops don’t come, and not far enough away so that every kid with a Two Gun Kid fantasy feels obligated to ventilate landscape.
I figure one day I’ll round the bend and there’ll be a couple Great Blue Herons in a ferocious gunbattle with the Kid.
I’ll skin the survivor.
pussy.