THE COMPLEAT "UNBORED" FISHERMAN

THE COMPLEAT "UNBORED"  FISHERMAN

It was a cold winter day when I dropped by

   to visit an old timer, who sang bass

      in my church choir....a man whom 

I had always admired.

There was no question: God lived in his

    heart...it showed in his face...he did

       miss church sometimes...when he 

           was out somewhere fishing.

He was in his shop, back of his garage, with

   a cozy little vented heater

going full blast.

It didn't take a genius to figure out that this

   man was an avid fisherman..."A Compleat

       Angler," as some book once had it.

For all around the room, hanging on the walls,

    stacked in corners, were creels, wading 

        boots, tackle boxes, fly rods, and 

remnants of mud and

            dried moss...lingering appropriately

There were trout and bass pictures, cut from

    old Field and Streams and Outdoor Life

        magazines...a mountain stream 

            flowing...stapled to the wall

and a picture of him, smiling and holding a 

     giant trout...

The walls were lined with shelves stacked 

    with clear, plastic boxes, all visibly

        full of many-colored trout flies.

All around the room, bunched and hanging 

    on eight-penny nails were feathers

       of all kinds, colored fabrics, and 

          what looked like pieces of fur...

At his sturdy workbench, with the tiny vises,

    sat his beat-up old leather office

       chair, with the rollers...neat deal

Little long-neck pliers, tiny scissors, spools

    of thread, fishing filament, and

        little tubes of glue littered his bench.

He produced an old rusty steel folding chair

    from somewhere, unfolded it  and said: 

"Sit down...let me show you some 

     beautiful fly- fishing flies!"

Reaching up, grasping a stack of boxes, he

    opened several and began to name 

       them, as if they were OLD FRIENDS.

          (they were---he had created them!)

This is a Blue Wing...and he laid them out

    for me---a Hare's Ear, Royal Wulff,

Parachute Ant, Elk Hair Caddie, Pheasant

   Tail, Frilly Dilly, Griffith's Goat, Yellow 

Worm, Royal Coachman, Real Warrior,

    Copper John, Bluewater Bait...

and on he went...eyes shining..."Many of

  these I thought-up, made and named

     myself..." 

"You've heard of the Rio Grande King,

    one of my favorites...and I am partial

       to the Black Wooly-Booger!"

I was no doubt watching, open-mouthed 

   and in awe, I may have even been day-

      dreaming a bit, visualizing myself

up in northern NM, near the Colorado border,

    on the remote Los Pinos Creek a' fly-

fishing...for trout...

Then, as he began to pull more boxes off

    his shelf, I realized that there were

        hundreds more flies, yet to be 

           named...and I was already

                mesmerized.

I said to my old bass singer, "Wow, you 

    must have a thousand or more 

        fishing flies in this room! How 

           can you ever USE THEM ALL?"

"I probably won't, 'cause most of us anglers

     have a half-dozen favorites, chosen

         for the particular stream, time of 

            year, time of day, and the "hatch..."

I replied: "Then why tie more flies than you 

    will ever use?"

Then he said something I will never forget.

"Well Mil, as wonderful, beautiful, and

     marvelous as our Earth and lives

        here are, all men are constantly 

            trying to overcome BOREDOM."

********************

(I, being an old catfish fisherman, was never

  any good at fly fishing. I think my sinker

       was too heavy.)

********************

BY MIL

8-1-16