Aug 7 2008 11:55 pm
The new guests arrive with broomsticks up their asses and begin assembling heirloom bamboo four weights. They check their satellite phones and tell my father about their stint as commodore of the yacht club. They are decked out in southwestern wear. They sit stiffly on the porch in leather upholstered chairs to reorganize their wooden fly boxes filled with pheasant tails, CDC caddis emergers, parachute Adams, and the occasional Klinkhammer. They wear Simms waders and wading boots to stand on the manicured grass banks and toss little dry flies to the juvenile fish feeding in the shallows. At dinner they tell us about the 16” rainbow they managed to land after a 10 minute fight.
I’m wearing cargo shorts and stained New Balance sneakers as I stand on the bank stringing up my cheap ass, super fast, almost broomstick-like Orvis Clearwater five weight. I tie on a four foot section of 3x. I reach into my pocket for a small Tupperware box containing three #2 streamer hooks with six inches of rabbit strip, a set of large dumbbell eyes, and a couple pieces of flash tied on each. I cast the monstrosity awkwardly to the head of the pool and let it sink for ten or fifteen seconds. Then I strip it back in short, violent pulses. Strip strip stop. Strip strip stop. Strip strip boom.
I tell everyone at dinner about all the fat meat I saw.