Ros knew very well that streetfishing was not only a matter of fashion statements, even if the way you look does matter when you fish in Camden. In this particular occasion, the fish — a good mackerel — was in the sewage system and getting anywhere near the open hole would have certainly spooked the hell out of the fish. So it was quite literally a matter of putting her fly on a dining plate at 15 yards.
After the brilliant catch, Ros congratulated herself on two accounts: first, her fishing outfit was a perfect match for the beautiful colors of the fish; second, she had been most inspired to book those lessons for accuracy casting.
‘Now’, she wondered, ‘maybe that 12′ 10wt is indeed a tad too much for mackerel. I should get one of those little Ritz rods, maybe I could get one with a grip matching my bag…’
Since the new caretaker had been appointed at the local fishery, an unprecedented fervor for flyfishing was noted in the female population of the parish. Miss Peddington, on behalf of the Women’s Club, had booked weekly fly casting lessons for the next six months. This trend rose some concerns among the men, most notably among the Three Feathers’ Pub regulars who made clear, by the most vigorous declarations, that they expected the fishery management to take measures to restore domestic peace in the neighborhood and on the banks of the pond.
Mr. Peddington, the fishery owner, decided shortly after that some change in the staff was in order if the Jolly Trout Ponds were to maintain the high esteem they were held in many miles around. Upon conseling by Mr. Fortharoad, the Three Feathers’ Pub landlord, he contracted another new caretaker.
A few weeks after these events, cross point embroidery was back in favor at the Women’s Club. Rumours were heard that heated debates took place in the Peddington household concerning the reimbursement of six months worth of cancelled fly casting lessons.
[Dear reader, I’m not a native English speaker but I strive to write it as well as I can.
If ever you spot language errors here, I’d love to hear about it and correct them. Don’t hesitate to point them in the comments.]
At this point in my fly fishing/casting life, I’m definitely not a glass or bamboo guy. Yet, I think I’m close to be sold to the glass cause just because for their cosmetics. Yeah. I love to admit it, but I’m in this game in good part because of the way it looks. I feel relatively safe in this confession, I’m in good company: Gierach wrote something along the line. The special effects you can get when building on glass are really beautiful.
Here’s a master of this trade, a true artist in rod building — when he’s not possessed by some Transylvanian demon and fucks up a build big time with a red marker, a tragedy indeed, but thankfully rare.
So, you begin with stuff like that
which admittedly is quite good as a start, and then some light and varnish magic operates and you end up with this
This is seriously good.
One of those days
It was just one of those days for Claudine. Fishing should have been great, lots of surface activity, but the fish were taking some invisible stuff that she couldn’t figure out. Then a strong wind began to blow. Despite her repeated supplications, Coco hadn’t thought one bit about designing a wearable stripping bag, so Claudine had spend an exhausting morning managing the line’s follies.
And just when she had finally hooked the first good fish of the day, her line had snagged on the one branch of the whole lake… Pohkatchak, for goodness sake! — she cried.
And now that she thought about it, she was going to have a serious conversation with Charles. The guides distribution on her rod was a mess, and he probably had done the static the same drunken night when he invented his famous grip shape.
Ludmilla knew that most of the trendy socialites in her circles were rather horrified by her commitment as a fly fisherwoman. Common wisdom was: you can be serious about fashion or about fishing, but hardly about both.
“Says who?” asks Ludmilla, booking her flight for the August’s Oslo Fashion Week. Her magazine would pay to send her there and back, but she wanted to take care of the details for her trip to the Alta river, where she would forget all about the runways. She wanted that 30 pounder salmon. On the check list: new Polaroids matching her reel, maybe from Prada. A couple of hours of tuition with the double handed. Probably also a nice pair of gloves. Talk to Jean-Paul once more, and try to convince him to design a pair of waders in which your ass doesn’t look huge. Check her fly selection with Vegard, her favorite guide on the Alta.
His Lordship, obviously, was less than pleased by the fashion sense of Master Bardolph. But he would be the first to admit that Bardolph was a jolly good ghillie, and no one was quicker with the gaff.
Even though she had been everything he could ever hope from a girl, even though he already knew that forever the curve of her hips would haunt the nights when sleep is hard to find, he had had to get rid of her. She knew too much. And she was getting in the way of the fishing. It had been an unpleasant, and messy business. Especially the part with the gators.
Doug finished his cigarette and sighed. Today he would fish his 8′ 5wt fiberglass. He would go with the boat, he knew where to find some bass willing to bite. Tonight, he would get home very late.