Every so often a really good idea isn’t
July 31st, 2008 by fishing_expert
I see it as using turn signals in the city, all you’re really doing is giving information to the enemy…
Picture that rarified hour before dark, the lake is a sheet of glass, the fish are feeding in earnest, and tippet looks like winch cable on the surface. It’s “perfect” time, in 60 minutes either your execution is perfect, or you’re perfectly frustrated, it’s the only possible outcomes.
I’m focused on willing my 6X to be 9X, and someone to my right starts speaking:
“Yea, and remember my idiot sister with the cleft palate, well she married that loser dude you met. Yep, the short guy with the nose ring, that’s the one.”
Incredulous would be the operative word, some fellow 300 yards distant appears to have a two way radio glued to his ear, chatting with a buddy in a float tube. Conversational tones carry at least a half mile, and he’s emptying the family closet for the entire lake to hear.
“%$#*, I missed one.”
At this point, assorted Mom’s are hustling kids away from the shoreline, and I’m wondering whether my destiny will be, “%$#@, the fat guy next to me caught another ^%$# fish.”
Technology is a wonderful thing … at times. It holds much promise, but like the Atom Bomb, not everyone that can afford it should own one.
The running diatribe pauses long enough for me restore “last hour’s bliss” and I managed to fool a nice rainbow with a Pheasant tail. Sliding the fish back into the water the silence is punctuated with more blathering:
“Naw, I’m using a dry, I’ve never caught %$#& with Pheasant Tails, that what you’re using? &%@#, I missed another one.”
Well that confirms everything they’ve said about distracted drivers talking on cell phones, my discomfort is fading a bit with each announced muff - it’s irritating, but Loudmouth has his pants around his ankles for the amusement of all within earshot.
“OBAMA? %@*& him, I can’t believe you buy into that liberal &^%#*, Jesus.”
I can’t help you pal, once religion and politics dominate the conversation, you’re on your own.
… Hell, I can’t see my tippet anyways, time to call it a night.
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