The Fly Fishing Show

I’m getting up early tomorrow morning and heading two hours northeast to Winston-Salem, NC, all by myself without a wife or any kids, to attend the The Fly Fishing Show.

This should be more fun than the last fly fishing show I went to where I had to deal with a bored wife, a couple of unruly children and where Lefty himself saw me carrying my son in a sling and said to a crowd of strangers, “Huh! In my day women carried babies.”

Grumpy old fuck…

Anyway, if you’re reading this and will be there look for me. I’ll be the bearded guy with a beer-gut in his mid thirties wearing a baseball cap and a fishing shirt, or possibly a hoody with something fly fishing related on the back.

Roanoke Logperch

At the request of NC River Angler I tied a fly to represent (or come as close as I could to representing) the endangered Roanoke Logperch.

Here it is:

 

Blast and Cast Stats

Ducks shot: 0

Fish caught: 0

Stumps shot: 1

Number of times stump was shot: A whole bunch

Beers drank: 8-10 pints

“Nips” taken from the bourbon bottle: Way too many

Cheap cigars smoked: 5

Brain cells killed: A whole bunch

Hours friend spent hungover: 1/2

Hours I spent hungover: Don’t know yet, still waiting for pain to end

Hours that I will spend drinking and smoking cheap cigars in the foreseeable future: 0

The Curse of The Agitated Angler

If all goes according to plan, Saturday morning I should be near Beaufort, SC shooting ducks on a private, seldom to never hunted pond at sunrise and chasing redfish and speckled trout with my fly rod the rest of the day.

The weather north of where I’ll be will be cold, windy and miserable which should push the ducks down. The temperature in Beaufort is supposed to be in the mid sixties, the sun is supposed to shine and the wind isn’t supposed to blow too hard.

On paper this should be a great day.

I don’t know how this will work out in reality.

See, when it comes to out-of-town fishing/hunting trips I’m notoriously unlucky. Usually I don’t even get to the destination. And on those rare occasions that I do, things always seem off enough that the locals are commenting on it.

This particular trip seems like it’s going to work out though.

Of course my wife was complaining about a sore throat this morning.

And the three year-old has been extra whiny today for some unknown reason.

And the baby has been crying all morning because he seems to be teething or something.

And it’s predicted to start sleeting/snowing here about the time I should be leaving tomorrow…

Riverweed Darter

This morning I got asked by NC River Angler if I could create a big meaty riverweed darter fly for he and his clients to use this spring to chase local smallmouth.

Riverweed Darter

Well, I said I’d give it a try and this is what I came up with:

So what do y’all think?

Me Vs. The ‘Poon

While tying up a tarpon fly earlier today for my up coming Keys trip in April a thought occurred to me: what the hell am I going to do if I actually hook a tarpon?

See, I’m heading down there by myself, I can’t afford a guide and the boat I’m taking with me is a kayak.

Now I know that I shouldn’t be too worried about the prospect with tangling with the silver king because, well, like I said above, I can’t afford a guide, so the possibility of me even seeing a tarpon much less getting one to eat is going to be pretty slim.

I am bringing my big stick with me though. And it’s going to be rigged up and ready to go if I do get a chance to cast to a tarpon. And if I get a chance I’m sure as shit going for it. I’d be crazy not to.

But what if I actually stick a fish? I mean, not just a fish but one of the big migratory ‘poons, and not just jump it but really drive the hook home and have to fight the big bastard for hours as he drags me and my kayak for miles around the backcountry, occasionally slinging his seven-foot armor-plated body up in the air as he tries to escape, finally giving out near a clump of mangroves that look exactly like every other clump of mangroves leaving me lost and sore but ultimately victorious?

…

…

…

You know what? I think I’d be fine with that problem.

The Buff

I always thought of myself as a “blue-collar” fly fisherman; I didn’t need the fancy equipment, the shiny new gadgets or the technical clothing to catch fish. No, I could make due with what I had. I always picked function over flash, practicality over style, Budweiser in the can over micro-brews. I came from a working class family, dammit, and I may be slinging a “yuppie stick” (as my working class family calls a fly rod) but I’m sure as hell not going to fall into the trapping of the fashionable fly fisherman. Oh no, I, I am the goddamned salt of the earth when it comes to fly fishing…

Or that’s at least how it used to be.

I’ve noticed lately, after many Christmases, birthdays and tax returns that my equipment has started to get fancier, my gadgets more numerous and my clothes more and more technical.

This has, to be honest, brought a little secret shame to me as far as my redneck roots are concerned. I’ve actually found myself dressing down when fishing with certain people and laughing at the style choices of others while secretly admiring their brand new fishing shirts and zip-off quick drying shorts/pants (shants?). But shame or not, it seems that I have morphed into a fashionable fly fisherman. My one saving grace was a lack of a Buff.

You know the Buff; the seamless, one piece, tube of UV radiation resistant material that every fly fisherman in every fly fishing video that’s filmed in saltwater seems to be wearing over their faces as sun protection. To me, the Buff was always that one completely unnecessary piece of technical fishing clothing that was all about the fashion statement. I mean seriously, just wear a wide brim hat, use sunscreen and grow a beard if you’re that worried about skin cancer.

So along came this Christmas and with my wife’s purchase of two shirts for me from Strip’n Flywear (if you don’t know them click the link and check them out, they make some of the most badassed shirts I’ve ever seen) came a free Buff.  

Yep, a Buff.

And I know I’ll end up wearing it. First it’ll be tentatively and in private like it’s some sort of sick sexual fetish but then the next thing I’ll know I’ll be wearing right out in public were anyone can see while I’m steadily trying to convince myself that’s it perfectly reasonable piece of equipment that I couldn’t live without.

Dear God what have I become?