Teased unmercifully by an erstwhile pal? Sand kicked in your sandwich by an inebriated yet lucky in-law? Itching for a chance to get even? Just fade back out of eyesight and loose the “Osprey Kite” – guaranteed to put down every feeding fish within a city block.

Especially effective on those “obligatory” trips – where you’re forced to compromise the sanctity of your beloved sport by showing in-laws a good time. If your flies are being pillaged by relatives possessed by the Devil’s Luck, here’s a chance to score some payback, watch gleefully as the river becomes devoid of all life.

An effective tool at clearing your favorite riffle of interlopers, tie it off on a tree branch and return later for a blissful and solitary angling experience.

Will not work on beer drinking teenagers intent on reproduction.

I had no idea I was in such distinguished company, the question is, which is the half that swears like a sailor?

“A U.S. survey of licensed hunters and anglers last year, commissioned by the National Wildlife Federation, found half of those polled identified themselves as evangelical Christians.”

All the fishermen I know are liars, boozers, womanizers, and would as soon abandon spouse and infants to chase the rumor of big fish, so which half am I fishing with?

I like to think that the flipped quarter sometimes lands on its edge, which explains my predilections, but if the last dozen fellows I fished with are Christian, it must’ve changed remarkable since the Lutheran brimstone of my youth.

It may be that I’m mistaking exclamation for invocation. When the guy next to me in the riffle yells, “Jesus H. Christ” – it may be a prayer to speed his reflexes,  I’m going to have to look closer next time. When the “GoddamnitToHell” wafts upstream – it may be a heathen swearing at weak tippet, or an invocation from a Christian – ensuring the fish he missed simmers for eternity.

Big fish can make any of us an evangelical, especially if they’re released prematurely. Moses might’ve parted the Red Sea accidental-like; after busting off a keeper the mighty oath parted the hair of the assembled tribes of Israel, the Red Sea, and the encroaching Egyptian army.

The Bible doesn’t mention whether Jesus was a good fisherman, I expect he spooked a lot of fish with the “walking on water” bit, sure is simpler than wading. I think I’ll go with the consensus on his skills, not because I’m currying favor – more of a professional courtesy.

I never saw much Christianity as a child, usually because I was in the corner facing the wall, and when relieved of that duty, it was to get a soap bar in the mouth. I never understood why the Lord insisted on such clean teeth, my head was underwater so I couldn’t make out the reverend’s explanation..

Technorati Tags: evangelicals, christians, fishermen, swear like a sailor

The statistics are plain, 100 million blogs exist on the Internet with nearly 100,000 created daily, of those 95 million are read by the author and his mom.

I figured that would dominate the gift giving this year, as I’d receive 40 copies of Strunk & White’s “Elements of Style.” Lord knows I’ve earned it, butchering the English language repeatedly, violating every rule held sacred.

I dodged the bullet, a whirlwind arrival with sugar laced goodies, followed by an orgy of rending paper, squeals of glee, and then a hasty exit.

My folks have given up trying to find something fishing related for their son, they’re just thrilled he continues to hold down a job. Ma ensures all the clothes are long sleeved or warm, knowing the kid is either wet or close to peril, and I ensure she’s right.

It was my brother that made the stretch this year, gifting me with the present every long suffering fisherman has contemplated but never had the courage to purchase. Correctly, he assumed rare moments exist where the fly box offers no encouragement, where the angler is completely stumped, and deception turns to anger…

Nothing like a German “Potato-Masher” hand grenade for the angler who has everything. It’s the first shortcoming I’ve seen on my Simm’s vest, no pocket designed for ordinance. I guess that means a new vest needed for next year, with my relatives there’s no telling what castoff NATO surplus is headed my way.

I don’t want to hear them giggles, likely you have a similar tale, involving; Japanese bubble-packed something-or-other, a saran wrapped fly rod complete with level floating line and reel, or a Penn Senator with a WF5F attached…

Next season if you hear some fellow downstream yell, “Fire in the Hole” – don’t think, hit the deck.

Technorati Tags: potato masher, grenade, don’t crowd my riffle, christmas, idiot brother

That’s a helluva question, the kind that gnaws at a fellow for most of the day. I stumbled on a story of George M. Daniel, a fly fishing champion who was asked to speak to 182 graduating college students on the secrets of success.

Daniel is a national and international fly-fishing champion, with several gold and silver medals and first-place finishes under his belt. It’s likely he would know a thing or two about success.

Imagine being asked for the same speech based on your fishing career, and with 182 freshly scrubbed smiling faces peering intently at you, how would you mold your story into a positive message?

Fishing and Success are not always in the same hand of cards, at least not in most of the hands I’ve been dealt. You could flounder away through the message your  folks gave you, “..don’t do drugs, don’t get pregnant, don’t…” – but that’d fall on deaf ears…

Figuring a 30 minute lecture with everything I’ve learned, here’s the highlights:

• You’ll be in over your head many times, if you lose your bearings swim in the direction the bubbles are going.
• Fail repeatedly until success gets careless and is foul hooked.
• Change careers often, and if you don’t get a rise, there’s always unemployment.
• You have limitless potential and can be anything you want to be, make sure you want to be rich.
• Never marry a woman with more tattoo’s than you, failing that, make sure you’re barbless.

Maybe four quality bullet points would cover me, the rest is all that “feel good” filler that is requisite for such an occasion. No mention of fly tying, as this is supposed to be a positive and uplifting speech.

Technorati Tags: graduation, motivational speech, fly fishing success

“Madam” is expiring on her couch and I’m hustling about accommodating all the “last wishes” of the soon departed. No, it’s not serious – it’s that rarified moment that anglers leverage to the hilt.

The ailment is immaterial, the symptoms indescribable, the outcome pre-ordained; I’ll be forgiven for all sins and trespasses, score double the usual style points, and be just bulletproof enough to get into trouble again.

There’s something alluring about “a fast woman in germ’s way” – it’s good for at least five impromptu fishing trips (unannounced and on a moment’s notice), or one obscenely large charge on a VISA card.

I’m not the one dictating the compensation package, somewhere amid the throbbing sinus, the head full of snot, delivery of a glass of orange juice is worthy of a King’s ransom.

I’m just trying to help, yet the enfeebled muttering from the lump in the bed keeps promising things that would make Larry Flynt blush.

I was going to settle for a Hoffman saddle.

I wonder if they take as much delight in our suffering? Mom’s aren’t like us, but if it’s self inflicted, a sniffle caught while fishing, do they put the boots to us as well?

I have to go administer the Last Rights, anyone remember what comes after, “E. Pluribus Unum?”

Technorati Tags: ma’s sick, last will and testament, out of the doghouse

It’s the age old quandary, someone in the house fishes and no one knows what to get him for Christmas. Catering to his passion results in feigned enthusiasm, as even a valiant attempt results in both the wrong size and color.

I’m thinking this year you roast the oaf –  in full view of kids and in-laws. You risk nothing, as the only penalty is he won’t drag you off to some mosquito infested swamp where you’re featured as the entree.

Start with accessories, an extension cord that he’ll treasure forever, no worries about size or whether he has six of them already – this item ensures uniqueness. The fun part is when he plugs it into a US 110v outlet and fries whatever device he plugs in, made in Japan, so it’ll require a US power adapter to function properly.

The Salmon Pillow will serve as a painful reminder of how few fish “Bwana” brings home. Add it to his kit bag prior to departure, attach a simple note like, “This is what they look like in case you forget,” then make yourself scarce. Odorless, non-toxic, can also be used to beat him into submission upon his return.

For the overbearing faux-environmentalist, we recommend the Live Sushi Impaler. Razor sharp needles suspended over the water drop at regular intervals, if “Nemo” happens to be underneath – he’s now a cocktail weenie.

Wasabi mustard not included.

For the “ostentatious prick” who admires his reflection in his Rolex, hustling the kids off to finishing school so’s not to be late for his pedicure… MacDaddy lures has exactly what’s needed. Depending on your budget, you can go for the “One Million Dollar Lure” or a smaller keepsake, the $24,000 fly.

Six generously sized diamonds, set in 14K pure gold is pure bragging rights, who cares whether he likes it – when he shows it off at the clubhouse, it’ll be his idea anyway’s. 

The way I hear it, the Spring Ridge boys all have one.

If you need nautical overtones, or are simply paired with an angler that can’t find his arse with both hands, why not a full GPS and electronic fish finder in one elegant ensemble?

Dubbed “The Seagull,” this remote controlled craft has a 500m range and can operate 90 minutes at top speed. Fish location is fed back to the hand held video controller. The only thing missing is a bow mounted BB gun and some depth charge racks.  If your favorite run is occupied, let the “PT109” give the competition a few broadsides, that’ll clear the area.

Want to see eggnog come out of his nose? If you’re one of the Unfortunates –  wedded to a Dry Fly Purist whose nose wrinkles at anything other than rare bamboo, Alsatian fedoras, and ancestral coat-of-arms, it’s time he assume his proper station and titles.

What better way than to have his vassals giggle when he unwraps his ancestral estates for the first time, the Guasinito Worm Factory – complete with 1000 hard working serfs tilling his vast acreage..

Remember the look you gave him when he announced he was headed for the Cayman Islands with only one ticket? How he dared not meet your gaze, scuffing the carpet with his toe while insisting, “..it’s just a fishing trip, I didn’t think you’d want to come.”

It’s payback time.

For the worldly angler who routinely abandons spouse and household in singleminded pursuit of self indulgence, we have the “shorts safe,” designed to keep money and passports secure during travel.

The fun part will be when the Custom’s officer holds these up to the assembled masses waiting for inspection. Think of that delicious moment when he stammers his way through an explanation – while everyone shrinks away from him like a leper.

Revenge is a dish best served cold, and if he objects to any of the above lock him outside.

Technorati Tags: Shorts safe, worm factory, fish finder, GPS, torture Nemo, wierd fishing gifts