![]() ![]() Not that it takes too much to confuse me, mind you. ![]() I don’t want five kinds of indicators, a ten-tall tippet stack, or gadgets and widgets and zingers out the whazoo. I don’t need four boxes with every trout pattern in six sizes and three colors. I want less to carry, less to lose, less to hang fly line on. I shake my head.īut then, I’m a minimalist. Fanny packs that would take a whole lot more fanny than mine to keep suspended. Chest packs they can barely reach around, much less fish around. I regularly see guys on the trout stream who look like they’re moving in, who appear to have been tossed out of the house for going fishing one time too many, kicked to the curb with their worldly belongings, luggage and all, and they've toted everything to the water.īackpacks that could attack Everest. ![]() “ Cookin' at the campsite” Hey! That’s MY shtick! You can “ Camp out in your room” when you turn fourteen, Junior. That trout's only 7 inches! Did you check your local wildlife regs before you fried it? It does introduce kids to fishing… maybe… but not catch and release.Ī cut brown, brown ‘bo, rain brown, cutty rain brown? Hank would know. Random reactions run rampant through my cerebral cortex. Between the remote control monster trucks and the Wreck-it Ralph action figures. I can't pick out the target and kick myself for not having my polarized glasses. I freeze in my tracks, get low, and silently survey the rows of colorful shelves while nearby shoppers move nervously towards the exits. Once a fly fisherman…Īnyway, my radar says there’s fish close by. When you spend enough time straining to spot the shadowy shapes of submerged salmonids it becomes instinctive and subconscious, even when you're off the stream. So I’m wanderin’ through the local big box toy store (no, it's not one of my usual haunts, but with Christmas approaching grandfathers 'R' asked to do such things) and my trout senses start tingling. And while Nate felt powerless to stop it, he was inclined to look the other way when it happened. As Miss Anderson dragged him down the hallway, Johnny glared back and pointed his stubby finger at Timmy. ![]() If so, Johnny was surely on school record pace. Nate wondered if such things were tracked. Third time this week and it was only Tuesday. But that lack of understanding didn't stop him from repeating it later in the lunchroom and earning Johnny another trip to Principle Dan’s office. Nate’s little brother, Timmy, heard it too and laughed the loudest, though it was certain that he didn’t get the joke. At least that’s what Johnny Culver said in the coatroom, making Nate and all of the other 5th graders giggle hysterically and check over their shoulders to be sure Miss Anderson wasn’t within earshot. It was two days 'till Christmas and colder than a teacher’s tit. Yet there it sits, elevated to the place of honor. Whatever their utility, they are lovely to look at. Above works of bamboo art, though their soiled cork grips suggest they are more than just pretty things. Above the stunning blonde HL Leonard Catskill. Above the rich caramel-hued Granger Register. It looks odd hanging there above the graceful works of fly rod royalty. ![]()
0 Comments
Leave a Reply. |
AuthorWrite something about yourself. No need to be fancy, just an overview. ArchivesCategories |