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Well, it is. I know it and can't seem to
do much to change it. Here's where I'm at.
I eat, sleep and work with things about fly
fishing. From six am or so until after midnight
that's all I am involved with. If I had the
time to get away from here it would be to... go
fishing. All my phone calls are about fly fishing.
I don't know anyone who doesn't fly fish. Talk
about a rut.
And then two magazines came in the mail. They
were sent in desperation to an old address I
once had and forwarded here, in fact, I have
received the second copy of each already.
"Lo and behold, there is a 'nother world out there!"
Hunting!
Now I used to do a lot of that, in Michigan and
in Montana. Rifle, shotgun, handgun and bow. Once
I tried (in a story for a magazine) to start up
a whole new sport, spear-chucking for deer. It was
not well received but I wrote about it any how.
About how we would all dress alike (spear-chucker
suits), develop neat organizations, nifty logo's,
secret handshakes; the potential seemed good, but
it was not to be.
(The idea was to hide in the branches of trees
and leap out with a spear and stab deer. Hunting
from a tree in Michigan was not legal at the time
and was probably one of the things that held me
back from the brink of fame.)
Anyway, "back at the ranch," er, I mean... back
to these magazines. I have become so tunnel visioned
that I'm sure I would have fallen for nearly any
sport or pseudo-recreation which might have
presented itself. But, "just in the nick of time"
these hunting slicks have "plucked me from the
jaws of disaster."
Tales of guys getting bit by bears, caught by
cougars, stomped by stallions, tusked by tuskers,
and run ragged by rabid rabbits. "Chilling tales
of daring-do," gets the old blood pumping like
back in the day's of my youth. But in truth, it
was nice to break away from the fly fishing mold
for a while and sniff the other breezes of the
great outdoors. I need to become more well
rounded again.
Oh, this is a complete mystery to me though. I
think we all read our monthly (quarterly?)
Fly-fishing slicks about the same way. Smile at
the pretty lady with the nice teeth and big fish
on the cover, skim the list of contents, flip to
a couple of same... flop-flop our way to the funny
thing on the last page, read half and make a note
to go back to page 85 the next time we pick it up.
In the process we may see an ad or two for things
we have, don't have, need, don't need, or have no
idea what to do with if we had one. These ad's are
for fishing stuff, mostly fly-fishing stuff. Not
so in these 'Other' magazines. These guys have a
problem, but it may not be a very big one at that.
It seems that as these fellows who hunt and kill
things, more trophy oriented perhaps, get older
they develop a short-coming of their own.
There is a preponderance of ad's for Viagra
and every sibling-sister of the scientists
sizzling test-tube. Right there alongside ad's
like "No Kill- No Pay!" there would be nestled
a coy little notice of how 'she' thinks "bigger
is better!" Page after page of smiling chickies
peeping out from the normal classifieds is
un-nerving to say the least. Pictures of charging
Rhino trampling natives, Jack O' Conner smiling
from the top of a trophy kill, but not these!
These are just wrong! Wrong, I tell you, Just
plain WRONG!
Just when it seemed I had found something to
fill out my reading world, something to take
me away from thinking about fly-fishing all
the time, when I had made the leap to 'greener
pastures,' I find the slick-rags have become
adulterated, 'gone over to the dark side,' lost
faith with the multitudes. If I start to read
these things will I catch the 'old-timers
disease' which seems to have inflicted all
those who carry a weapon?
Why is it that the covers of the shooting mags
have really ugly guys with very dead things and
the fly-fishing slicks have dainty lovelies with
straight teeth and crooked grins? And why do
they sell so much Viagra to guys who kill
things and the fly-fishing guys don't need it? ~ JC
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