The ballet dancer

[Traditionalist]

A gentleman on one of the fly-fishing newsgroups I frequent, recently mentioned ( jokingly I hope! )that he was looking for a fly and rod combination, which could break through an inch of ice if required.

Unfortunately, I rather fear that I was unable to advise him exactly in this respect, but I think I got close with the following:

Using a slightly modified pendulum cast, ( more or less straight up !! ), a  steel crash helmet and heavy kevlar shoulder padding, coupled with titanium reinforced body armour, ( in case "straight up" is taken too literally ),coupled with an eight ounce reversed squid pirk, with the tangs removed. Should do the trick. Of course you will need an "Umpteen" weight fly-rod for anything like this.

While I was demonstrating some things to a class at the week-end , using a fourteen foot beach-caster, as a little light relief between covering the double haul and a snake roll,, a guy from the local club, who reckoned he was a fair caster, asked to try my gear, as he reckoned he had the pendulum cast, which I was demonstrating to a few blokes from the local club, off to a fine art.

Always willing to learn, I handed him my gear, warned him that the specially tuned mag-alloy reel had neither magnetic nor air brakes, and that the bearings were specially oiled and adjusted for maximum free running, he merely smiled deprecatingly and nodded knowingly, so I handed him my gear, and moved to one side.

One or two of the spectators, obviously acquainted with the talents of our worthy, made a few comments to the effect of "Give it some welly Dave", "Go on Dave, show him how it?s done", and similar encouraging remarks.

Spurred on by this, and after a few moments of silent and obviously intense concentration, Dave reached out with the rod, rose to his full height,  and then a bit further, and began to whirl at considerable speed.

Pirouetting with the consummate grace of a world class ballet dancer, combined with the frenetic enthusiasm of a whirling dervish on speed, rising up on his toes, and simultaneously heaving with the sheer brute force of a professional hammer thrower, issuing a long and peculiarly ululating grunt, which would have frightened even a raging gorilla into immediate submission if one had been attendant, he blasted off a cast which would surely have been close to a world record, if only it had gone forwards, carrying the line with it.

However, and most unfortunately, due to a slight miscalculation on his part ( The technical term for this particular miscalculation,  is apparently, "F&%??%? hell, my F&%??%? thumb slipped off the F&%??%? spool". ).

Which pithy commentary detracted rather more than somewhat from the poignant grace of the whole procedure. 

Meanwhile, the projectile which had been innocently subjected to these by no means tender mercies, having broken the line with a sharp crack, and thus free from any further earthly constraint worth mentioning, hurtled more or less straight  backwards, shot clean through a 1/2" pine fence board,  accompanied by a further large cracking and splintering noise, making a smallish hole in one side, a gaping rent in the other, and  with a rather dull and surprisingly tinny thud, a very large dent and a small hole in the door of the gentleman?s brand new BMW, where it finally came to rest.

The technical term for this is apparently,  "Where the  F&%??%? hell did the F&%??%?  lead  go?", and the technical answer is,  "F&%??%?  hell, look what that F&%??%?  lead has done to my F&%??%?  car!"

An inch of ice should be no problem at all.

The resulting birds nest on the multiplier was quite amazing as well. After disentangling for nearly twenty minutes, I finally gave up, and cut it off instead.

Our worthy?s commentary on this was "Never did like F&%??%?  multipliers anyway, the F&%??%? thing burned my F&%??%? thumb as well".

Several spectators vacated the area immediately afterwards, although a couple of hardy souls from the local  angling club simply parked their cars elsewhere.

He was very annoyed about the dent in his car at first, almost as much as his burned and lacerated thumb,  but after a couple of us had pointed out what would have happened had he hit somebody else?s car, or indeed, somebody else?s head, he agreed that it was probably better as things were.


For those wishing to improve their casting, and my apologies in advance for the highly technical nature of such explanations...........


NO MATTER WHAT ELSE YOU DO! 

On no account allow your F&%??%? thumb to slip off the F&%??%? spool while you are showing somebody how to F&%??%?  cast, with a F&%??%?  reel  you don?t  F&%??%? know anything about, and when your F&%??%? brand new car is parked behind the F&%??%?  fence immediately in your F&%??%? rear, or you may find out that F&%??%? eight ounce lead weights go a lot F&%??%? faster than you F&%??%?  thought,  when propelled by a F&%??%?  eighteen stone ballet dancer with a F&%??%? fourteen foot beach-caster.

TL
MC

[Traditionalist]

Ha ha  :lol:

Put me in mind of the Irish folk song, The Sick Note...

http://www.traditionalmusic.co.uk/irish-folk-music/irish%20songs/The%20Sick%20Note.htm

Especially " the projectile which had been innocently subjected to these by no means tender mercies, having broken the line with a sharp crack, and thus free from any further earthly constraint worth mentioning"

Aha!  So you like long drawn out cruel tragedies?


No man may know, where fate or luck, may lead his life,
what may befall him, how he lives, in happiness or strife,
planning will not make it so, neither hopeless wishing,
but perhaps one may improve one?s lot, and do a little fishing.

Strange, that such a relatively simple pastime, helps a man,
to come to terms with many things, that may have foiled his plan,
the rushing water, seems to carry many troubles on its way,
and the angler then escapes once more, the worries of the day.

Even when the day is done, and anglers footsteps turn at last,
for home, and maybe rude awakening, the memories, now past,
reinforce resolve, have calmed somewhat the ruffled nerves,
just as the rushing river calms itself, slowing through the curves.

It matters not so much, when fish did not co-operate, as wished,
the trip itself, the simple fact that angler just got out and fished,
renewed the soul once more, improved perhaps a sorry plight,
revitalised the body also once again, to take up arms and fight.

Some things in life are very difficult indeed for many men to find,
one of these, perhaps the most elusive, being peace of mind,
anglers then, though oft dismissed, as men most prone to dream,
are often blessed with such, found beside the rippling stream.

When night is darkest, and alone, a man is bound to pondering,
what solace then remembrance brings, of happy days spent wandering,
the cloak of hope and fearlessness, once worn uncaring as a youth,
somewhat ragged now, and badly worn, too thin to hide the truth.

Though cold seeps in, a man may yet regain a little warming heat,
remembering balmy summer days along the river, following his feet,
of mighty fish, and mighty streams, mayhap some secret brook,
odd thought indeed, that anglers, of all men, really need no luck.

When illness strikes, or sorrow threatens man to overcome,
to curse and rail at useless gods, or other men, as dumb,
memories of better days may help dispel the lurking shades,
and blessed sleep at last arrive, as pleasant memory fades.

TL
MC

[Traditionalist]

This has certain similarities to "The Sick Note"...............................


I was sitting in my tree-stand, casting out my bait,
when a large fat deer came running by, and I realised far too late,
that the rod I held just would not do, for knocking out the beast,
it was only spooled with ten pound line, and I forewent a feast.

Determined then to have success, I took out my trusty gun,
and saw then much to my dismay, three large trout in the run
believe me friends my gun is good, but the easiest tool its not,
how do you retrieve three trout, that are riddled with buckshot ?

I threw the damn gun down again, and took up my trusty pole
would you believe it? Two fat deer,came to the drinking hole,
I raised my rod and aimed with care, then carefully flung the lead,
it flew straight as an arrow then, and hit the first one in the head,

The line wrapped round its antlers, and it took off at speed,
believe me when I tell you, life is hard when you are treed,
fifty yards, a hundred, it sped straight through the clearing,
I watched dismayed my backing, through the rod rings disappearing,

My reel it jammed, and frantically, I strived to get it free,
this is not a clever thing to do, when you are up a tree,
the reel jammed harder, and the deer ,made a determined bound,
it pulled me straight out of the tree, and then I hit the ground.

Although quite dazed, I still held fast, desperate for some fun,
then I was hit hard from above, by my falling gun.
the line snapped with a twang at last, and the gun discharged its load,
the deer just stood there waiting, I swear the damn thing crowed.

A burning feeling in my bum, then caused me some dismay,
and that is why I am standing here, to tell this tale today,
In spite of  pain and dizziness, I fought my senses to regain,
I stumbled over the bloody gun, and it went off again.

The deer, a hundred yards away, dropped straight down stone dead,
and I stumbled backwards once again,trying to clear my head,
the river bank was close at hand, and I could hardly think,
two steps backwards ,and of course, I fell in the bloody drink.

I struggled down the pool and then, I slowly scrambled out,
and saw lying in the shallows, three lovely gunshot trout
I gathered up the fish then, could not believe my luck,
and went over to the fallen deer, to have a better look.

The line got tangled round my feet, and  I crashed down once again,
when I awoke the line was tugging, and I got worried then.
I crawled along the tangled line, consumed with pain and fear,
and saw there struggling at the end,a brace of strangled deer.

I took a sip of water, and some tablets, for my pain and  woe,
and then I dragged my booty to the car, and prepared at last to go,
I gathered up my rod and gun, and reeled in all the line,
surveyed my booty with a grin, and started feeling fine.

Success at last I thought, well done, although not quite designed,
this will upset the purists, and to laugh I was inclined,
What with pain and stress and tablets, I did not drive with care,
and going round a corner, I hit a great big grizzly bear.

My poor head hit the windscreen, and I blacked out once more,
when I awoke, the bear was lying, stone dead on the floor,
With great resolve,I heaved and dragged, the bear onto the truck,
I got quite scratched and filthy, completely full of muck.

I reached my home town then at last, and pulled up at the bar,
I staggered in there for a drink, and help to unload my car.
The place was full of hunters, and anglers sitting drinking,
the drinks were brought, I told my tale, and that got some folks thinking.

I was hailed as the greatest hunter, that ever climbed a tree,
all my protests were ignored, and the town went on the spree,
the story it went on the wires, how half dead and single handed,
a bear, three deer, and three large trout, I nonetheless had landed.

Now some believed and some did not, and some just thought it crass,
but three shot trout, and the other stuff, and the buckshot in my ass,
finally convinced them all at last, that I was not telling lies,
all this is the honest truth, and why now I only fish with flies !

TL
MC