Why I suck at fly fishing part 4 trillion part 2

Yep, another spring in New England and another attempt at fly fishing for me.  Went down to the local purveyor of large guns and live bait and plunked down $29.00 for a new fishing license.   The store was really creepy.  There were a couple zoo’s worth of animals on the walls.  From squirrels and bears to flying monkeys.  OK, maybe there wasn’t flying monkeys but there could have been.  There was some old dude in a chair holding a pocket knife and a fishing lure.  I don’t think he was stuffed like the animals, but then again he didn’t move much.

So I walk up to the guy behind the glass counter, a counter that held enough handguns to arm a couple hundred walmart employees, and in my best Sean Connery, James Bond voice I asked for a, “license, license to fish.”  He looked at me and said, “huh?”

So, once again I said, “license, license to fish.”  To do it justice you need to pronounce the words as follows:

lyschenshhh, lyschenshhh to fischhhh… whatever, the dude still didn’t get it.

“Oh, you want a fishing license,” he says.  So he starts reading me the questions on the license form.  Name, town of birth, current town of residence, height, weight, color of eyes, hair color.  That’s when the proverbial train scooted right off the track.  When he asked me my hair color I said, “invisible.”

He looked up at me and said, “huh?”  I looked at him and said, “invisible.” 

He laughed and said, “oh, I get it you’re bald.”

“No,” I said, “my hair is invisible,” with the straightest face I could possibly muster.

“Huh,” he replied.

“It’s okay,” said, “just put it down as bald, that way the secret police don’t come asking questions.”

Once again, “huh?”

I finished this enchanting dialogue and left with my license to fish.  Yee ha, watch out Mr. Trout, I am coming for ya and like a real life 007, I have a license to kill!

Ewwww.  I really prefer not to kill fish.  I can go to the store and buy a fish if I am really hungry. No I love the challenge of catching the fish.  Funny thing is that these little fish with their little fish brains kick my ass when it comes to catching them.

You’d think with all this grey matter stored between my ears it would be no contest….guess again.

So off I went the other day, down to a local pond (freshly stocked with trout).  I put together my rod and reel and attach the smallest of flies.  I went online and found out what bugs were hatching in the area…I know I need to get a life….

So I begin the process of false casting, loading the line, shooting the line and depositing my fly in the water with perfect grace – 5 feet in front of me.  Ughhhh.

Again, cast, cast, cast, shoot…..10 feet.  Ughhh

Again, cast, cast, cast, shoot, ouchie!  Just snagged my right should with the damn fly.  How fucking stupid must I look.  It could be worse – I could have waders on. 

I continue to practice and low and behold I start getting the little fly some 50 feet out into the pound.  It’s like magic.

That’s when it happens.  My fly lands on top of the water and there is a rise near my fly and all of a sudden I feel a grab on my line – A FISH!  In my haste to set the minature hook I manage to pull my fly and the 3 inch fish attached to it clear outta the water and slam it into my chest.

Mercifully the fish falls off the hook and flops two times back into the water and swims off.

WOW!  I caught a fish! 

I am hooked.  Again I begin the process and over the course of the next hour and a half I catch two more fish.  Counting the first fish if you laid them end to end the three fish wouldn’t have been more than 12 inches.  But who the hell cares!  I caught fish.

So I live to fish again.  Beware you little bastards I am coming for ya and this time I mean business.

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