A Voice Crying Out In The Wilderness...
I'm blogging! For some of you more "tech-savvy" individuals, this would be no big deal, but for me, taking this step is huge.
I guess the first question I have to ask myself is, "why am I blogging?" To this, I can only say that I am a voice crying out in the wilderness. How so?
To begin to answer this extremely complex question let's begin at the beginning...a lifelong mistake that occured at the tender, naive age of eight.
I wasn't trying to get into trouble, just waiting around for my dad to pick up something at the Western Auto Store when I walked over to the sporting goods section and spied a bamboo fly rod. Funny looking thing with the reel seat at the very end. Much different, longer and much more seductive than the 5' Zebco 202spincasting outfit that I had received for my 7th birthday. In a word, I was intrigued. To make a long story short, I saved every cent I could lay my hands on and bought my first fly rod at age 8. This started a life-long addiction and a distinct preminition to spend the rest of my educational and occupational careers staring out the window wishing I was fishing.
For a while I was content to fish for warmwater species, bluegill, bass, crappie, catfish (yes, catfish will eat a fly, too...more on that later). I even had periods where I laid the fly rod down altogether and thought about becoming a tournament bass fisherman. But the fly rod kept calling my name. The advanced stages of my sickness...the thing that really caused me to get sucked into the vortex of addiction was a trip to Cherokee, N.C. in the heart of the Smokey Mountains for a family vacation. I just "happened" to bring my fly rod along, went into a local fly shop, bought a beadhead prince nymph, walked behind the shop, casted into a riffle on the Yocanoluftee River and caught my first trout. At this point I was helpless. There would be no turning back. Like a coccaine addict's first snort, I was hooked.
From this point on I would be destined to travel long distances to pursue trout, think about trout, spend enormous money on trout, paint pictures of these trout, write and read extensively about trout, tie flies for these trout, and generally drive my wife crazy with these trout, although she is quite the trout fisherman herself (more on that later as well...).
The trout are not the only guilty parties here too, there are bonefish, permit and tarpon that I love to pursue as well, but they are novel, infrequent travelers in my world.
The reason for this blog...I live in a state where trout, bonefish, and permit don't exist, and where tarpon are scarce as frog hair. Some of you out there are saying, "what's the big deal? Stop whining, make do with what you have or move. It's not that simple. I am a slave to the system. The Mississippi State Retirement System. I am a high school teacher so far in that I can't move anywhere until I get my years in. So for now, I'll just have to travel.
So there you have it, tribesmen. A voice for you other tribesmen crying out in the wilderness, Members of my tribe are extremely rare, but we exist...
Call us twisted, but we relish the thought of fishing in 15 degree weather, spitting sleet with size 26 midges. We believe the true measure of a great day is how many times you had to dip your rod in the water to de-ice your guides, which goes hand in hand with our belief that happiness is a crunchy fly line. We believe that beer is not any ordinary breakfast drink, and best served ice cold and straight from the cooler at the nearest public access parking lot regardless of exterior temperature, weather, or time of day. We believe a ten hour drive from Gulfport, Mississippi to the Caney Fork, White River, Norfork, Little Red, or Spring River is a walk in the park, and that it makes perfectly good sense to do so despite living 50 yards from the Gulf of Mexico...Here's to tribes!
I guess the first question I have to ask myself is, "why am I blogging?" To this, I can only say that I am a voice crying out in the wilderness. How so?
To begin to answer this extremely complex question let's begin at the beginning...a lifelong mistake that occured at the tender, naive age of eight.
I wasn't trying to get into trouble, just waiting around for my dad to pick up something at the Western Auto Store when I walked over to the sporting goods section and spied a bamboo fly rod. Funny looking thing with the reel seat at the very end. Much different, longer and much more seductive than the 5' Zebco 202spincasting outfit that I had received for my 7th birthday. In a word, I was intrigued. To make a long story short, I saved every cent I could lay my hands on and bought my first fly rod at age 8. This started a life-long addiction and a distinct preminition to spend the rest of my educational and occupational careers staring out the window wishing I was fishing.
For a while I was content to fish for warmwater species, bluegill, bass, crappie, catfish (yes, catfish will eat a fly, too...more on that later). I even had periods where I laid the fly rod down altogether and thought about becoming a tournament bass fisherman. But the fly rod kept calling my name. The advanced stages of my sickness...the thing that really caused me to get sucked into the vortex of addiction was a trip to Cherokee, N.C. in the heart of the Smokey Mountains for a family vacation. I just "happened" to bring my fly rod along, went into a local fly shop, bought a beadhead prince nymph, walked behind the shop, casted into a riffle on the Yocanoluftee River and caught my first trout. At this point I was helpless. There would be no turning back. Like a coccaine addict's first snort, I was hooked.
From this point on I would be destined to travel long distances to pursue trout, think about trout, spend enormous money on trout, paint pictures of these trout, write and read extensively about trout, tie flies for these trout, and generally drive my wife crazy with these trout, although she is quite the trout fisherman herself (more on that later as well...).
The trout are not the only guilty parties here too, there are bonefish, permit and tarpon that I love to pursue as well, but they are novel, infrequent travelers in my world.
The reason for this blog...I live in a state where trout, bonefish, and permit don't exist, and where tarpon are scarce as frog hair. Some of you out there are saying, "what's the big deal? Stop whining, make do with what you have or move. It's not that simple. I am a slave to the system. The Mississippi State Retirement System. I am a high school teacher so far in that I can't move anywhere until I get my years in. So for now, I'll just have to travel.
So there you have it, tribesmen. A voice for you other tribesmen crying out in the wilderness, Members of my tribe are extremely rare, but we exist...
Call us twisted, but we relish the thought of fishing in 15 degree weather, spitting sleet with size 26 midges. We believe the true measure of a great day is how many times you had to dip your rod in the water to de-ice your guides, which goes hand in hand with our belief that happiness is a crunchy fly line. We believe that beer is not any ordinary breakfast drink, and best served ice cold and straight from the cooler at the nearest public access parking lot regardless of exterior temperature, weather, or time of day. We believe a ten hour drive from Gulfport, Mississippi to the Caney Fork, White River, Norfork, Little Red, or Spring River is a walk in the park, and that it makes perfectly good sense to do so despite living 50 yards from the Gulf of Mexico...Here's to tribes!
I never knew about your story of buying your horst flyrod at 8. You should keep this up and try to stop posting blogs at 6:35 in the MORNING! I love you! Erin!
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