Let’s fish

A couple of very good lines for my French friends today. Sorry, I won’t try to translate them. Suffice it to say they are about the age-old wondering, silently and continuously operating in the mind of any fisherman worth his salt: why the hell am I doing this? And the only possible answer, never quite enough of an answer, but that’s all we have: fuck it, let’s fish.

S’ils me voyaient sur ce caillou, enrobé de coton huilé kaki, nez coulant, bonnet au ras des yeux. Pire, s’ils savaient l’énergie, le temps que je peux consacrer à la pêche, s’ils se doutaient de son importance, de son urgence parfois dans ma vie – à cette heure tout Proust, tiens, les cinq volumes de la Pléiade donnés sans la moindre hésitation pour ce « lancer léger » de bambou refendu si bien équilibré…

[I pass on yet another vain charge against psychoanalysis]

Et d’abord cette hantise de l’eau, que révèlet-elle ? Cette fascination du poisson caché, ce désir, ce plaisir de le prendre, de le tenir, de le tuer ou alors de lui laisser la vie sauve avec une émotion encore plus intense… Sadique obsessionnel compulsif fétichiste à orientation masturbato-mystique, par exemple ?

Mais ce n’est pas drôle. Sérieusement, qu’est-ce que je cherche, qu’est-ce que je fuis là-dedans ?

— Fous-toi de ça, grand.
Rire bref, tout proche.
— C’est le virus, qu’est-ce que tu veux, quand on l’a dans le sang, on le garde !

Jean-Etienne Bovard, La pêche à rôder, 2006.

Let’s fish.

Carp on the fly:


With an ugly imitation of bread I cooked on the spot with deer hair GI-cut à la muddler minnow on a size 12 Kamasan B170. The tricky part was to have something crust-looking. I ended up with a couple of turns of rusty+brown dubbing. Don’t forget to crush the barb.

fuzzy deer hairs caused by fish abuse

The other morning, a good fish, about a pound and a half, was kind enough to mistake it for actual food. Then I tried it on a couple of cracking common, in the same weight range, from a lovely pond in Kent. It was good to meet some relative success with a fly I produced ad hoc. It was even better to catch carps on the fly in front of a bait crowd. The fish were definitely into surface stuff, and had I been a better tier, I’m sure it would have been murder.

Now, I’m going to chase the slabs. I’d like to catch a 4-6 pounder this year. It will probably involve some inquiry on the fly front. As for tactics, the theory says: go ninja, and drop the fly right in front of them. Obviously easier said than done.

And pike and mullet are still on the to-do list for a postmodern grand slam.

There was a time

…when literature at its best flirted with fishing.

Old sports

Notice how Dos Passos looks so happy you’d think he’s stupid. Ernie says: “That’s right, my hat kicks asses big time. But you have to be me to get away with so much awesomeness. Your fish is not that bad Johnny.”

Johnny says:”Cheeeeese.”