I know. I know. There’s a lot of people out there who like to fly fish. I mean yes, I have seen A River Runs Through It, and yes, I get the whole tranquility thing BUT come on?! Who has the patience to one, learn how, let alone to two, actually stand there in thigh-high water and fish? I mean who?
There are 4.5 million fly anglers in the U.S. SOURCE: the American Fly Fishing Trade Association
If you are one of those 4.5 million, bravo. Really. I’m happy for you. But me, what can I say … I just don’t see it happening. Even if I’d look cute doing it, and I quote my favorite man, “Babe, I can’t wait for us to take a fly-fishing class together cause you’ll look hot af in waders.” In what? Waders? Oh … those hideous things that fly anglers wear? Ha ha … he really is the funny one in our relationship.
Of course, my initial distaste of the thought of fly fishing has nothing to do with the sport. Or even the waders. It’s really all on me and my adolescence level of patience. My mother tells a story every now and then about the first (and only) time I went fishing. I was seven. Maybe eight. And (so the story goes) I tossed my string (what’s it called??) into the stream, waited all of twenty seconds, pulled it out and asked, “Where’s the fish?” And that was that.
So in theory, one might think a “sport” that requires a little composure, calmness and tolerance might be just what my adolescent-self needs? Eh? Come to think of it, I wonder if waders come in pink?
Mmmmm … baby, I love it when you play hard to get …
… I picture you with your flannel shirt tied up, a ball cap on with a couple of woolly buggers attached to the brim, your blonde hair in a ponytail, the close fitting waders showing off your ass, and then in slow motion I see the spray of the cold river water shimmering in the sun as you toss that rod forward like a pro, and then … and just then I see your face crinkle, you look up at the fish gods, stomp your foot and under your breath I hear “fuck! this is so stupid” as your string wraps once, twice around a single branch. You hear me laugh, you look over at me, but not before I show no sign of even noticing what just happened. I crack a semi-smile, I toss a “you doin’ ok babe?” your way. You take a breath and look at your wad of string in the tree, make your way over to it and begin to untangle the bundle and respond …”yep, I’m good.” I reply with, “you’re killing it.” Meaning you haven’t fly rod whipped me in the face yet and you do look “hot af.” I cannot wait for years ahead of checking you out in waders. Screw the fishing … just want to see you in those damn waders 🙂
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My Flexitarian Kitchen 