Is there more to life than fishing?
Call me a heretic and burn me at the stake, but I’ve had better things to do lately than go fishing. Sure, one, two trips per week, a bluefish here and there, a couple fluke for the table, but I’m not exactly wetting the bed looking for bonito or Spanish mackerel yet. Summer doldrums. House guests. Who knows. Sunday I go offshore for tuna (without a fly rod), so wish me luck.
My present obsession is the Tour de France. The combination of Outdoor Life Network’s coverage of the race and Tivo -- God’s gift to ad zapping -- has me glued to the television every evening for three solid hours of skinny guys named Georg, Ivan, Lance, and Jan whizzing through some of the prettiest countryside in the world. I’ve never been an organized sports fan. Patriots, Celtics, Red Sox, Bruins ... they get my attention, but I’ve never been a face-painter. I don’t watch sports on television, but this past month has been an utter obsession with Lance Armstrong’s quest to be the first man to win six Tours.
The guy is a true hero, a machine. Anyone who watched him pedal up the Alpe de Huez yesterday, through a spitting phalanx of not-so-friendly "fans", can’t help but realize they were seeing something very rare and special going on, a demonstration of sheer will I’d put on a shelf with history’s great heroes. If watching this guy grind down the competition isn’t enough to inspire you to kick the ciggies and climb aboard the old Schwinn for a few laps around the neighborhood, then do him and the world a favor and spend a few bucks for a yellow Lance Armstrong Foundation Live Strong wristband to help defeat cancer and donate some cash to a PanMass bike challenge rider like Reel-Time’s IronMike.
I used to ride a lot after college, tortured myself on a couple races around Eastern Massachusetts, and have recently been restoring an Ebay-won Italian racing bike to crank around the Cape on. If you think we poor fly fishermen are condemned to a life of penury due to $500 rods and $500 reels, try bicycling. At least I can hide a fly reel from the wife. A 64 cm Colnago Master Olympic Art Decor makes quite the impression when the post man drops it off.
"But honey, I won it on Ebay," has to be the lamest excuse of the spendthrift husband of our day and age.
Okay, back onto the topic at hand. That would be Fishing. What’s with the current shark obsession going on in the forums? As someone pointed out, it must be Shark Week on the Discovery Channel. Some poor farmer sees a basking shark fin slicing through the chop off the northside’s beaches and it’s time to call in Steven Spielberg.
I admit I’m a sicko and have done Google searches on "shark attack photos" (also airplane crashes). There’s something horribly irresistible about a shark attack. It’s got to be the same section of the brain that gawks at car accidents on the Southeast Expressway. Whatever the disgusting impulse, there’s a major portion of the demographic that just craves a good shark story. Take a ten-year old sharking at the Star for blue sharks and you’ll furnish him with enough fodder for playground tales of glory to last him through high school.
To further keep this rambling string of sentences on topic and bring it all into the focus of saltwater fly fishing (didn’t you like how I tied bicycles into fly fishing?): you gotta wonder about those purists who claim that a shark on the fly is good sport. Guys. Get a grip. There’s a time for the scalpel and there’s a time for the chainsaw. Yeah, I’ve thrown a fly or two at some nosey lemon shark on the flats in the Keys and the Bahamas, but give me a chum slick and a Penn 9000 the size of a golden keg of beer any day.
To which the smartaleck would say: sure, and it’s easier to get to Provincetown in a F-150 than on a crotch-tenderizing ten-speed, but what does that have to do with fishing?
So, have a great weekend, may your life take you far, far away from Boston for the next week (wish me luck, I’m bound for Cambridge and Back Bay this morning).
Till then, tight lines and go Lance!