Every few fishing trips requires the unavoidable reorganization of my flies. That?s right, sitting down to carefully pull each one from its? foam pedestal, to reinsert each and every one in accordance to its? size, type, style, shape, quality and among other classifications only my deepest subconscious understands. Those I?m most proud of, towards the top of course
A task often accomplished with great care at my coffee table while sipping a hot cup of tea while my better half occasionally glances my way and says, ?organizing your flies again I see?.
My efforts, futile!
For you see after some time of not catching fish, I change flies like changing socks. Each new fly carefully plucked from its? home and quickly tied on my liter with the utmost precision as though aligning the sights on a sniper?s scope. This fly, this time, this pocket, this day will surely catch the biggest trout in this here Newfoundland. After all, this fly?s obviously perfect; So perfect I could eat it myself!
But Ahhhhhhhhhhhh, no luck.
Being stubborn individual, I persist. Each unsuccessful fly thrown back in my case in no particular place, with no particular order and with the disregard of last Monday?s trash. You think I?d learn? Nope, not me, no way! So focused on the task at hand, my each thought more compartmentalized than the flies in my case.
Oh, but this next fly, that?ll be the one!