I have written about this before but it is a repeat to tie into this brownlining deal. When I was growing up a neighbor kid, Lenny, was taught by a gal at Meier & Frank in downtown Portland, Or to tie a Tied Down Caddis. M&F had one of the few fly fishing departments in Oregon. This way before Kaufmann’s or any other flyshop. So, Lenny would pilfer out the not so good TDC’s and share with me. Now, we rarely got onto true freshwater to fly fish and our venues were the sloughs of Sauvies Island and North Portland, some 45 years ago. We had cheap floating lines, heavy leaders and even cheaper rods. And, one fly, the TDC. Nope, I am not going to tell you we caught all manner of carp or perch or bluegill. We spent hours each time tromping through tall grass, stepping over all manner of toxic waste or seepage chasing these huge cruising carp. If we caught one, dare I say it, it was with a worm and bobber. Great memories of watching that bobber go under, much like in tidewater when a Chinook takes that shrimp cocktail and moves on. Eventually, I left the stinking, murky, mucky enviro’s of sloughs and gladly found freshwaters and willing trout. That carp fishing was too hard.
Fast forward 40 years to about five years ago. A similar scenario. My then young, teenage son, Tony, wanted to fish more often than I could, or even now can, escape. So, he decided to fish a slough some quarter mile from my house that skirts the entire North side of Portland. Soon, I heard about these enormous fish, pods of them cruising or holding. I had to come and see. Maybe bass I thought. Or, those damn carp. Off I went. Ugh, carp. Ok, I’ll bite. Because the damn carp weren’t going to. And, they didn’t. Now, I didn’t put much effort into it. A few fluffy dries and a woolly bugger stripped across their oblivious snouts was as far as my efforts went.
But, the damn seed was planted and I even attended a local fly shop’s Saturday morning class of a local fly fisher who successfully pursued carp on the fly. Flies were more emergers and the presentation was more cast, sit, twitch and wait for feeding fish, not holding fish. Ok, off I went and after about half a dozen efforts my initial intensity had dwindled down to a ‘wtf ! Why am I doing this?’
Long story, I know. So these recent emerging brownlining logos and articles have intrigued me. The interest in it is fascinating for another reason too. It is good to see an option beyond far off venues most of us will never see. This morning I watched the Fly Max boys enjoying the Nomad experience in S.A. Good for them, OK for awhile, but it almost gets to be ‘whatever’. A saturation of perfect tits and ass, that is akin to 12 hours in a titty bar? Ok, enough, time to leave out into the bright sunlight, out into reality. (I have just heard about titty bars) I think the exploration and perfection of this part of the sport would be welcome by someone like me, a total loser so far with carp.
SwittersB & Exploring 