June 2004

Tie One On

by Greg Lawless, Guest Columnist

In our stressful occupation, we all need a respite from the everyday grind.

One hobby gives you an entirely new focus. It's a true escape.

I refer, of course, to fly fishing. You'll be hard put to obsess about work while facing the threat of drowning, coupled with the distinct possibility of catching yourself with a fish hook instead of your quarry.

Fly fishing is standing in the middle of a rapids, waving a whippy stick (the fly rod), which is throwing out weighted string (the front-loaded floating fly line). At the end of said string is a hook with fur or feathers on it (the fly). It's a fake bug you throw out in hope of catching a fish (Bob). To get the fly line to the fish, you cast it back and forth quickly, causing the extremely sharp and pointy fish hook to go whizzing by your ear at speeds reaching seven gazillion miles per hour.

If you cast a spot overlapping a fish, it may rise and attack the fly, hoping to startle you and cause you to fall into the stream. Your waders will fill with water and you will be dashed on a rock or swept to a horrific drowning. Fish think this is hilarious. But fly fishing is not just fun.

Fly Fishing Is Cool
As I draw more and more years from the Bank of the Future, I realize I become less and less cool. But fly fishing is way cool. Here is a true and accurate conversation I had with a Young Person with Tattoos and Multiple Pierced Body Parts ("YPTMPBP").

YPTMPBP: "Wow, cool."
Greg: "Excuse me?"
YPTMPBP: "Cool piercing there, dude."
Greg: "Why, thank you."
YPTMPBP: "Dude, like, what's that deal on your forehead?"
Greg: "It's a number 12 Royal Wulf."
YPTMPBP: "Cool.
Greg: "Thanks."
YPTMPBP: "Howja get it to stay, man?"
Greg: "I believe the point is imbedded in my skull."
YPTMPBP: "Cool."

Immortality
If you create a unique fly, you can name after it you. Leo Wulf created the Royal Wulf. Professor John Wilson made The Professor. There is a fly called the Wooly Bugger. Its story is like Dr. Watson's account of Sherlock Holmes's Adventure of the Giant Rat of Sumatra, "for a report of which the world is not yet prepared."

Flies are easy to make, using stuff around the house. I invented The Tabby Cat. It bears a haunting resemblance to the fur of a common house cat speckled with red dots that give the illusion of human blood. Friends sometimes ask why a fish would bite at a cat. I tell them it is part of the mystique of the sport, and change the subject.

Catch and Release
True fly fishermen never keep or kill the fish they catch. They let them go. Fish often wonder what's the point. That shows how stupid fish are.

My first fly catch was an eight-inch rainbow trout. I brought the fish in, cradling it in my right hand, reaching to remove the hook with my left. The fish wouldn't be still. I still recall the horror of blood in the water.

"Oh, no!!" I moaned, "I've killed my first fish!!"

Imagine my relief, then, to find the blood was gushing around a 14 Sparkle Pupa sticking in my thumb. The sarcastic look the fish gave me, swimming away, was totally rude. Someday I'm going to recatch the ingrate and tag him with one of those Animal Kingdom devices for monitoring creatures in the wild. We'll see who laughs then!

The Beauty of Nature
Most fly fishermen will tell you that fishing is incidental. The real wonder of the sport is time spent in a beautiful forest stream, surrounded by trees, listening to the gentle melody of the rushing water.

We say that kind of stuff to try to impress our spouses. We'll fish in a cesspool if we think there's a three-pound rainbow in there.

However, being out in nature does make one reflective. Let me conclude by sharing with you a poem I wrote, sitting on a rock, watching the stream go by.

Sitting on a Rock, Watching the Stream Go By
There once was a man named Guy
Who, watching the stream go by,
Hooked a brook trout, who spit the fly out,
Lost the fish, and then his left eye.

___________________________

Greg Lawless practices in Ballard and is a longtime Bar News contributor. His previous poetic work includes an article on writing constitutional law decisions in haiku.

Fresh from savoring his Andy Warhol single billable unit of worldwide celebrity in the Karen Dammann case, editor Lindsay Thompson found all he was good for was writing Methodist knock-knock jokes, and took this month's column off.

Back to table of contents >>