Category Archives: fly fishing humor

Of Wooden ships and Iron Men

Sure it’s only a fragment of angling data, but it still imparts a horrifying aspect to how far we’ve sunk over the last hundred years.

A recent examination of trawling records from the late 1800’s suggest that despite all the carbon fiber, nylon, sonar, radar, Twinkies, Playboy, the Internet, and on-ship HBO, the average commercial fisherman works 17 times harder to catch the same volume of fish, as his turn-of-the-century counterpart.

Seventeen, it’s a magic number …

Modern fly fishermen carry seventeen times the gear of them old guys, forcing most of us to give up the sport at 35 due to curvature of the spine. We carry potable water, toilet paper, energy bars, poly leaders, split shot, extra spool, extra lines, cell phone, pager, flotation vest, credit cards, bug spray, nippers, flask, stomach siphon, and reading glasses, and that’s only the first two pockets…

Anglers of yesteryear were lean and vigilant, bringing the water to mouth in cupped palm, carried a single rod and a can of Red Deer Fat to grease things to float, or left alone to sink.

We carry seventeen times more flies, in seventeen new phases of lifecycle. We spend our precious time wondering whether it was dun, spinner, emerger, cripple, or nymph – and them old guys only considered two kinds of bugs, those that were bothering them – and those that weren’t.

They had shiny, drab, and bright, and were correct 33% of the time. We’ve got floating, sinking, beadhead, lead free, barbless, and borrowed, then we have to determine insect stage – all as daylight ebbs.

They had horses that might trot 10 miles an hour, but only had 5 miles to the Pristine. We’ve got agile and sleek testimonials to modern engineering – capable of 200 mph in seven seconds, and while those speeds are useful, it takes four hours of bumper to bumper to get clear of our fellow man, then seven seconds to your next ticket.

They fished with rods that took seventeen times longer to make, constructed by rod companies whose lineage could be traced through 17 generations of loving craftsmen. Their rods were gossamer wands of indescribable beauty, with the temperament of women, and when put away damp or hastily – would warp and buckle in vengeance.

We’ve got rods that crap themselves out of a nozzle accompanied by the musical notes of carbon-based flatulence. They’re cold and plasticine, and cost seventeen times what they’re worth.

For that matter everything today costs seventeen times more, including fishing licenses and divorce.

… but the wardrobe is cheaper. Modern fishermen eschew bathing in lieu of an extra hour of fishing. The tweeds and ascot replaced with an extra application of anti-perspirant and a wet-knap chaser. Just enough homage to the niceties of civilization to get you through the drive thru and toll booth without incident.

The saving grace, the item enabling us to continue hemorrhaging both time and money in pursuit of diminishing returns, is we’ve abolished Debtor’s Prison … whose return appears imminent given the current Congress, delayed only by the inevitable Republican filibuster.

Tags: fishermen work harder, fly fishing, fly fishing cost, fly fishing humor

One in the pocket is better than two in the bushes

It was the same story he used when in Italy, “… imagine my surprise when I rummaged in my pocket and found a single Little Stinking Olive!” I told him not to run it through the ponds at the Vatican, and doubly don’t dare hand twitch it through the green water at the Roman baths, but he ignored me both times …

LSO, Little Stinking Olive

… now, recently freed from the pillory of Saint Peter’s Basilica, I get another terse note from Panama…

“My employer dispatched me to Panama, and while I was pocketing Manuel Noriega’s collection of exotic Cubans, I found a single Little Stinking Olive …”

… naturally I’m a little concerned, as being caught hi-grading El Jefe’s stash has to be a firing squad and imprisonment, at the minimum …

Guided CIA Junket

Now I’m wondering who his employer is – and whether the company HQ isn’t in Langley, Virginia. Only “spooks” can take a dozen LSO’s and part them like the loaves and fishes – and by my count he lost nine of them by mid afternoon.

It’s a comfort to know he had permission, but I’m still unnerved by all them black sedans across the street.

Tags: Little Stinking Olive, Panama, Peacock Bass, Cuban cigars, pillory, St. Peter’s Basilica, fly fishing, Manuel Noriega

Fishing is hard and then you die

As I’ve always batted for average four out of five ain’t bad … and the only reason sex was omitted was due to the target sample being mostly fishermen, who are so deep in the Doghouse that’s no longer an option.

(HealthDay News) — A combination of four unhealthy behaviors — smoking, lack of exercise, poor diet and substantial alcohol consumption — greatly increases the risk of premature death, a new study has found.

I’d suggest those same four demons increases your chances of a successful outing, as they’re the crucial components of our piscatorial double helix.

Smoking has been deeply ingrained in the sport by all the “woodsy” advertising of yesteryear. Poppa, looking particularly well dressed in starched hip waders and plaid shirt, accessorized deftly with a Prince or Bent Bulldog, while the family claps gleefully at the prospect of dinner.

Gleefully because they know they’ll be having chocolate milk shakes and burgers after Pop returns fishless – It’s a family tradition and Poppa’s age old mistake.

Smoke does make a impenetrable bug barrier – and as the squadrons of blood sucking Winged Death pirouette to something tasty or tender, a well aimed puff of cheap cigar can send them spiraling elsewhere. The proximity of water, damp fingers, and the unsavory habit of biting off the end of the cigar results in a sodden dog turd – flavored with a bit of hot charcoal. As the cigar is jettisoned into the cold clear water, breath is enough to keep all but the foolhardy at a respectable distance.

Three hundred and sixty four days a year we smile pleasantly at the steaming vegetables and raw fruit deserts, insist our kids eat doubly so, and then with Momma’s tear-streaked face waving from the driveway – head for the mountains and a clandestine rendezvous with greasy waxed paper, heat lamp French fries with chili and cheese, sour cream and sprinkles …

… and a diet Coke, which like the Pope’s blessing, somehow removes all artery clogging agents and guilt.

There is plenty of exercise in fishing, the problem is we only go nine times per year. Six hours into the Opener we’re invoking deities and foreswearing greasy anything – penance for stopping at both Jack in the Box and Mickey Dee’s. As we huff our way up those increasingly steep flat spots, peering in vain for a glimmer of our automobile amongst the pines, we’re full of the same steely resolve that failed to fill our fly boxes last winter.

Alcohol consumption puts us to bed on Saturday, and allows us to move come Sunday. As we stifle the groan rediscovering all those little muscles that atrophied during the Winter, grew flaccid under the regimen of corn chips and football, and are so crucial to equilibrium when wading.

Saint Bernard’s deliver liquor to skiers – amateur and professional alike. A well hidden pint can work miracles so long as you’re not the fellow driving. Tucked into the vest next to the toilet paper you stole from the motel – knowing when Mickey Dee’s finally releases its grip on your vitals, it’ll be midstream and with waders cinched tight.

… which is why you’ll die prematurely, you might’ve made the bank with felt soles.

Tags: premature death, healthy lifestyle, fishing humor, felt soles, fishing vest, diet coke, Trout season opener

We few, we happy few, we band of brothers

The quiet interspersed with the cursing of the frustrated, the outrage of those whose water was trodden upon carelessly, and the high pitched whine of those that forgot their boots, rods, tippet, or dry socks.

Opening Day, and for those about to partake we salute you.

With snow dominating the high country and a week long storm enroute, with high water, discoloration, and suffering the tertiary phases of a long fishless winter – about 8 million anglers will stuff themselves into the pristine, and love every minute of hardship.

… and fish will be caught, only much smaller and fewer than the stories will describe come Monday.

    He that shall live this day, and see old age,
    Will yearly on the vigil feast his neighbours,
    And say ‘To-morrow is the Opener.’
    Then will he strip his sleeve and show his scars,
    And say ‘These wounds I had on Opening day.’
    Old men forget; yet all shall be forgot,
    But he’ll remember, with advantages,
    What feats he did that day. Then shall our names,
    Familiar in his mouth as household words-
    Wooly the Bugger, Adams and Cahill,
    Hendrickson, Gordon and Copper John-
    Be in their flowing cups freshly rememb’red.

The rest of us intelligent fellows will claim we weren’t planning to go anyways, how it would be a terrible imposition and the scene of great carnage and angst, but we’re lying.

We’ll slink away from the coffeepot knowing we held our manhood cheap.

Tags: trout season opener, trout fishing, fly fishing, St. Crispin’s Day, Shakespeare, fly fishing humor,

Graduate school is out of the question

It’s great that your child wishes to pursue Poppa’s passion commercially, and it’s especially timely now that the pro Bass circuit has entered both High School and college curriculums.

Getting “Pumpkin” to unplug is a miracle unto itself, but you may want to sit the lad down and have a serious talk… Current salaries for instructors

Foremost should be your discount should you fund any form of higher learning.

Tags: fly fishing instructor, fly casting instructor, that and twenty five cents gets you a cup of coffee, angling jobs, lack thereof

We’ll accept introverts so long as they share their lunch

Skinny guys are all about scrambling over rocks, falling in, impatiently changing fly patterns, dawdling with waitresses and all the errata that accompanies fishing, and while they make a lot of noise, rarely catch much …

Fat guys use the same laws of Nature as fish; the calories expended for the next meal cannot exceed the calories contained therein, hence they grow old, bigger, and wiser.

Scientists are suggesting that the talent pool includes the shy and introverted, who may be every bit as talented as their rotund brethren, but as they’re reserved and quiet – we rarely hear their feats of prowess.

Shy types quietly fold their gear and get to bed early.

The sensitivity trait is found in over 100 other species, from fruit flies and fish to canines and primates, indicating this personality type could sometimes provide an evolutionary advantage.

Fat guys lack the desire to roam much so they patiently spend the day catching the six fish in their hole. Each fish a separate riddle to be savored and unraveled. Meanwhile their skinny counterparts throws sloppy casts, slip off rocks, grow impatient, and while they might cover three times as many fish, they’ll make twice the commotion and scare most of them witless.

… and sensitive types think their way up the creek, and are the beneficiaries of all them spooked fish.

The sensitive individual’s strategy is not so advantageous when resources are plentiful or quick, aggressive action is required.

Outspoken gregarious anglers burn daylight posturing for the waitress, holding court in the parking lot, usually at the expense of someone else’s beer, while the quiet fellows suit up early – ignore the noisy pantomime in the parking lot and are likely on their fourth or fifth fish.

But it comes in handy when danger is present, opportunities are similar and hard to choose between, or a clever approach is needed.

Which is why the hale-fellow-well-met spends the weekend groaning on the motel bed. The shapely lass encountered sunbathing bankside being the bride of the Raider’s 3rd round draft pick, and after bouncing off a couple of trees and watching his borrowed rod splintered into kindling, Mr. Extrovert may have lost interest in fishing – which’ll last as long as he’s prone, in the fetal position, and holding his nuts.

Assuming the theory sound, the best guides will be both fat and shy. As the outfitter lines up available talent, we’ll be looking for the concave fellow who doesn’t meet our gaze, whose handshake is reluctant and damp, and whose streamside patter and fly selection is done solely via Blackberry.

Tags: shy anglers, Oakland Raiders, Blackberry, extrovert angler, fat guy fly fishing, science

The League of Women Voters would decline to host it

There’s a cadre of coaches to groom candidates on the smallest of details – and what’s blurted out during the primary is refined into easily digestible sound bytes for the election.

Some hideous side of my character has always wanted a presidential election to rest solely on the angler vote. Perhaps it’s because we can finally ignore the issues that placate elements of left and right like family values and carbon taxes; we can waive the issues we’re not sure we understand – and we know he doesn’t – like stem cell research or drilling off Malibu, and focus on just the fishing angle … as unimportant and fractious as that might be …

… seeing Dan Rather with a straight face, asking insightful questions akin to, “Mr. President, do you think it fair to have fish forced to copulate, strip them of their children, raise them in an urban setting surrounded by concrete, then force them into the wild without food – and subject them to a gauntlet of marshmallow-laden treble hooks?”

You have to admit you’d be riveted, especially with NBC and your family asking whether he’d pooched the answer or no…

We won’t have the pleasure anytime soon, but as the UK attempts to form a coalition government, the Angling Times was put in an enviable position as it interviewed the Opposition Party’s candidate for Prime Minister, David Cameron.

As it’s not my election, nor am I privy to a single solitary issue – we are allowed free reign.

“Angling isn’t just safe, we will actively promote it. I am a fan of fishing.”

The above sounds suspiciously like the “some of my best friends are fishermen” coached response. “Fans” are for organized sports, not the disorganized, every-man-for-hisself, rabble that fishing is so famous for …

Q: Can you tell us if you’ve ever fished?

“I’ve got quite a good fishing heritage. My grandfather was a brilliant fly fisherman and I remember when we went on holiday together up in North Wales and we had a picnic on the banks of the River Clwyd. My sock floated off down the river and he cast for it and got it on the third time. It was 20 yards downstream and flying down the river, and I remember thinking ‘what a God among men’. He was a very good angler and also had pike to 24lb.

“I still do a bit of fishing, but not as much as I’d like to. I went mackerel fishing with the children this summer and we ate everything we caught, I’m pleased to say. I do a very good smoked mackerel paté.”

A point for mentioning fly fishing, two more for comparing talented fly fishermen with gods – but undone by the smoked mackerel paté reference (at least in the Colonies), and losing his sock might be equated to misplacing a hangar full of MIRV’s, so it’s a wash.

Q:How important do you perceive recreational angling to be in this country?

“Incredibly important. There are four million people who, in one way or another, take part in fishing and it’s an incredibly widespread sport that a lot of people get an enormous amount of pleasure out of.

“I am an outdoors person. I love growing my own vegetables, I love being in the countryside, I love walking, I like fishing. I like all these things. It is a great way to spend time outdoors and to have a pastime, to take exercise, and it’s something we should be encouraging.

“Fishing is very good on every level. Whether it is well-being, whether it is bio-diversity, whether it is understanding nature, I’m a fan and a supporter.”

The numbers suggest his pollsters have him up to speed, but vegetable growing first – fishing mentioned fourth. Any presidential candidate worth his salt would have mentioned “I grew dope in college, but never inhaled”… and if fishing was second, he’s a stoned throw from coronation.

Q: How can you assure anglers that the Conservative Party is the party for anglers?

“First of all, the leader of the party likes fishing and that is a good start. In any given year I will be trying to catch a mackerel or trying to catch a trout. The main thing is that we will have a team in DEFRA who understand and support all country sports, including angling, which is the most popular. And I think in terms of the policies we are developing, which are pro bio-diversity, pro countryside, pro sport, I think you will have a very, very big listening ear to speak to.”

Which is about what I’d expect from a fellow running for office. He’ll listen plenty while running for office, not so much once elected. The only bright spot being his equanimity for all types of fishing:

“We need to make sure we don’t over-emphasise game fishing as against coarse fishing. We need to be balanced. We won’t forget sea anglers either, who are one of the fastest growing parts of fishing.”

… so he may have swayed some of the Brownline contingent, but all in all I’d say it was a pretty miserable showing.

Our version would have some apoplectic senator at the other podium, coifed and controlled until his pollsters saw this as a final gasp, in which case he’d pound lectern and insist, “dammit Bob, you ain’t been fishing since you was twelve, and by all accounts you were a complete sissy-bitch!”

… “Mr. President, you have thirty seconds for a counter-rebuttal…”

Tags: fishing politics, Angling Times, Opposition party, David Cameron, brownline, coarse fishing, presidential debate, didn’t inhale, fly fishing

It could be the “Switch” rod what done it

It could be a California angling phenomenon, but I see more guys wearing pink than girls.

… and while fly line color continues to be debated with great ferocity in the forums, the SIMM’s G3 Guide vest in rust orange debuted with hardly a murmur…

Now that embedded jungle cock and spray of gaily colored feathers adorn our rod blanks ( along with a pancake layer of thick epoxy to guarantee a dead spot ) and brightly colored Fisher-Price artwork emblazon our reels, have we given up the stalk and seduction of fish in favor of a clandestine fling with a brother angler of like mind?

G3Guide Orange Flylogic Berry It could be the water, lord knows we’ve listed the offending hormones often enough, and what’s not been specifically mentioned can be inferred – but all this bawdy-house gear bespeaks of a fundamental shift in the angling psyche.

The old military gear, the olive drab’s and mustard Flecktarn, the muted earth tones designed to blend with bush or bank, the painstakingly crafted digital camouflage, all discarded in a race to announce your presence to the fish with authority.

It could be that the majority of the better streams have enough neon motel signs, fast food restaurants, and traffic lights on their banks that pine trees are outnumbered. The big fish lying doggo in Taco Bell’s riffle could associate bright with inanimate, and all the mobile green-stuff is markedly out of place and therefore hostile…

As the magazines and books probe fish vision further – alerting us to every nuance and twice for shortcomings, we change our flies to match ROSS Journey Fly Rod then storm through the quiet water like Liberace?

Be it fish, fowl, mammal, or human, the sacred tenet of Biology has always insisted the male displays bright colors to attract a mate. Which explains why money is green and credit cards are mostly in the vivid spectrum, red or blue, containing holograms or opalescence.

Fish are promiscuous – yet relationships rarely last past hook removal, so all this grandiose finery can’t be for their benefit, it’s apparently something deeper that is opaque to us odiferous Brownline types – yet is all the rage elsewhere.

As a Native Son, I care not about coveted glances or gang sign, I just need to know whether I’m supposed to pick a rod that is compatible with my cheek blush, or whether it’s the hue of my Manscara I need to match.

… the last thing I need is to see a fellow struggling with a tailing loop and offer a bit of friendly advice, and be met with, “STFU NoOb!”

Tags: Ross Journey Youth fly rod, Abel De Young reel, Simm’s G3 Guide vest, Flylogic reel, Sage Pink Camo, camouflage, invisible to fish, digital camouflage, Flecktarn, Fisher-Price toys

Millions of pebble gathering minions slaving on your behalf

Brachycentrus boots with taped legging Fishermen have always put catching far above creature comforts as it makes the story twice worthy of the retelling.

Breathable waders will be jettisoned in favor of the new “mummified” look – a return to leggings and the garb of yesteryear.

Why? Because you’ll have the scent of a million smashed caddis tucked in the glove box – and at the first hint of dampness, you’ll skip gleefully back to the car to swathe yourself in “Sedge” tape, which you’ve been buying at Costco by the gross.

“I picture it as sort of a wet Band-Aid, maybe used internally in surgery, like using a piece of tape to close an incision as opposed to sutures,” said Stewart, an associate professor of bioengineering, in a news statement. “Gluing things together underwater is not easy. Have you ever tried to put a Band-Aid on in the shower? This insect has been doing this for 150 million to 200 million years.”

–via the Salt Lake Tribune

Our pal the Caddis has been spinning a hot commodity all these years, and is liable to put a dent in sales of duct tape.

Plumbers will have to hew through Gordian knots of Sedge tape enroute to leaking faucets and cracked toilets, as decades of plumbing “honey-do’s” were neutralized by petulant husbands and their ever expanding application of Brachycentrus.

…and it may solve the invasive issue completely. We can jettison those slippery rubber soles in favor of “Spider-man” brogues; able to walk straight up a damp boulder or waterfall – and anything living that hitches a ride can’t get off, so “clean, dry, inspect” becomes “inspect, laugh, use putty knife.”

Tags: brachycentrus, caddis silk, underwater adhesive, wading boots, puttees, Gordian knot, spider man, breathable waders

Nobody wants to fish with the Greatest of All Time

I struggled with batting averages largely because I’d hoped everyone would forget mine. Being the KPL (Kid Picked Last) carries a blacker mark than Mister Irrelevant as it amounts to a youthful version of shunning …

Pro Bass anglers have statistics too. They endure CAV (catch average value), MAV (money average value), and LAV (limit average value) – and I’m sure they’re held to task by their cigar chomping manager and his check writing sponsors.

Like all statistics they’re argued hotly depending on whose interpretation fits your local heroes best – with “best” and “greatest” the hottest topic of all.

Fly fishermen have statistics as well, only they’re largely unknown to the owner – but widely used by their friends. None of us are interested in fishing with the Greatest of All Time, as we know we’ll have to listen to a lecture over dinner – mostly Latin, and involving the Kama Sutra …

Our statistics are bandied about in our absence, when Bob at the casting club mentions you’ve invited him to fish somewheres. Communal pals then chime in with the important errata; “he’s got a positive FAV, middling to neutral SAD, a dismal BWO, bigtime SFG, and his FiF is off the goddamn chart, be sure to bring a camera …

FAV – Fly Average Value. The number of flies you carry divided by the number of flies in your buddies fly box, positive values mean you’re his new best friend.

SAD – Snores After Dark (see BWO) The average decibel of your glottis divided by the decibel value of an FA-18 in full afterburner. A positive value is bad, consider a second room.

SFG – Springs for the Gas, Used in conjunction with THC (Takes his car) and 4WD, invariably springs for the gas, never invokes CNOTE (all I got is hundreds).

BWO – Breaks Wind Often. Self explanatory, consider a second room, or an upwind sleeping bag lie.

FiF – Falls in Frequently. This guy is a laugh riot – possibly a timid wader, takes it in stride, doesn’t wuss when wet.

Most anglers are unaware of their lifetime averages – a combination of too frequent fabrication, and decades of tromping through taint.

Our spouses keeps a different kind of records, also cumulative over a career and largely demeaning. But as they’re outed to sympathizing same-sex pals, only during periods of abandonment, while watching romance movies, both you and your fishing buddies will find them largely useless … until she has them carved on your headstone.

Tags: batting averages, cost per pound, angling statistics, fly fishing scores, fly fishing humor, fly fishing buddies, lifetime averages, Mister Irrelevant

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