Sorry About Stealing Your Flies
Bob Lawless, Port Ludlow, WA
I have been losing so many flies to the bottom
that my own tying could not keep up. So I had
this plan to steal a whole bunch of flies and
remedy the situation. Nothing personal, but if
I need flies and you have more flies than you need,
then the solution to the problem is obvious. "Balance
is always a good thing," Aristotle once said.
In order to avoid getting beaten up, I am withholding
exactly where the following took place. If you've lost
a fly or two lately don't necessarily think it was me.
There are rocks on the bottom; believe me.
I confess to the following: on an unspecified date on
an unspecified river, I planted a small air pump in the
weeds. From the pump, I attached a garden hose, painted
to look like gravel. Then I donned my wet suit and planted
myself in what is probably the most overcrowded hole on
the west coast.
I got in about nine feet of water so no one could wade
out and kick my bazule. Then, as fly after fly swept
past me, I just cut them off and put them in a mesh bag
attached to my waist. But I decided to have a little
harmless fun which probably so thrilled the owner of
the fly, he wouldn't have minded that I cut his leader
and stole his fly. So I feel no guilt.
What I did was to grasp the fly with a gaff hook and
make a violent jerk and then I would hold on for a
while, pumping the line all the time. Then I would
break him off. Lots of chuckles from me here. I tried
not to laugh too hard because I was afraid of the bubbles
it might cause. I was cagey enough to place my self in
an area, a seam, which was very bubbly so my normal
exhales went unnoticed.
But then the water seemed to fill up with flies. Many
were knotted together. One group had four lines in it
and all were twisted together.
I figured all hell must be breaking loose on the bank.
I just wanted a few free flies; I had no idea I would
cause a riot that would result in somebody calling the
police.
The cops, of course, started shooting into the water and
I could see the bullets slipping side to side as they
drifted harmlessly to the bottom; some hit my head. Damn!
They had my number...
Now, horror upon horror, comes this boat with a rope and
grapple hook hanging over the side and they are headed
right at me, the hook following just off the bottom with
the points sharpened to a razor. Some jerk of a Deputy
Sheriff, probably on overtime, had honed them to a keen
edge. So I cut that son of a buzzard right off immediately.
Now some sort of grenades were being dropped around me.
I could hear the chop of helicopters overhead.
I decide to boogie and crawled slowly toward the bank.
Shultz, when I got close, all I could see were rubber
legs packed as tight as pickets on a fence. Maybe
forty or more guys were directly in from of me and
you don't need to be a rocket scientist to know that
they would kick the feces completely out of me if I
crawled from the river.
So I withdrew to deeper water.
Then, very suddenly, I sucked in water. Some bowl of
dung had cut my hose! What to do?
Fortunately for me, a jet boat plowed threw the whole
scene. He had forgotten to completely raise his anchor
and so I grabbed on and was sent whistling through the
water like some sort of nuke sub. But, a gear man, the
rotten son of a power bait mother, threw about 8 oz,
of lead at me with 2/0 hook loaded with roe. He snagged
my mesh bag and because I could see his line was the
standard 40 pound test, he ripped off my bag with all
the flies.
But I saved my bungarolla with the ride from the jet
slob and I guess I shouldn't complain.
P.S. I didn't see a single fish. Sorry again about your
flies, fellas It was all in good fun...
~ BOBLAWLESS
Lighter Side Archive
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