Fish Lies, Fact or Fiction?

After watching innumerable videos on fly fishing and listening to twice as many podcasts on the same subject, it seems I grew up under a cloud of false beliefs and ignorance.

According to a recent Orvis podcast, feeding lies, sheltering lies and prime lies refer to distinct areas where trout go to eat, to be protected and to be in an area that provides all the elements the fish needs to survive, respectively.

These definitions are radically different from what I believed growing up.

When I was younger, a feeding lie referred to the size of your fish. More accurately, it referred to the size you actually said it was. Hence the common phrase, "What's this mess you're feeding me," or some variation, which often followed such slightly altered statements of fish size.

Sheltering lies, however, often have an element of truth to them. In general, they are are statements that can't quite be quantified.

"That bass had the biggest attitude of any fish I ever caught," "that sunfish put a lot of heart into that fight," and "that was the biggest pumpkinseed I ever saw" are good examples of proper sheltering lies.

Unlike the feeding and sheltering lies, the prime lie can take many different forms. Instead of going into an elaborate detailed description of a prime lie, allow me to give you an excellent example.

I caught my first striped bass on a fly rod when I was a teenager. In fact, I caught it within the first two casts the first time I picked up a fly rod. At the time I had no clue as to what I was doing. I cast out a little weighted fly and stripped it back. Cast it out again and was stripping it back when the fish hit. I set the hook and struggled some, but managed to land it. I'd guess that it's about 14 or 15 pounds.

What makes this a prime lie is that technically, it's all true. I was 17. It was my first time holding a fly rod. Cluelessness did indeed hold me in a firm grip. However, notice the verb tense change in the last sentence.

When I caught the striper, it probably weighed in just over a pound. If the bass is still alive, though, it could very well be 14 or 15 pounds or more by now. Herein lies the quality element of the enigma that is the prime lie.

Imagine my surprise at discovering all these years later that some disrespectful fisherman changed the meaning of my perfectly crafted fishing terminology! Despicable!

Fish Identification 101

I must confess to being deeply depressed. I squarely blame Tom Rosenbauer of Orvis for my depression. In short, Tom let me down.

Allow me to share some background knowledge. Through this knowledge, I hope my readers come to understand my need for a personal apology from Tom for this severe oversight.

My wife took me on a fly fishing sojourn recently in the mountains of North Carolina. Prior to this three day journey, I have been binge watching fishing videos on YouTube. Primarily, I've been watching the Orvis videos and concentrating on the ones with Tom Rosenbauer.

I've even been binge listening to the Orvis podcasts with Tom. By the time my wife and I left for our trip, I had covered all of the 2014 podcasts and was well into 2015. I've been eagerly listening to each piece of advice Tom and his guests have shared with me. Heck, I've even taken notes on some!

I carried all this new knowledge with me as I waded into the stream that flowed by my AirBnB. I looked the water up and down. I perused through my flies and asked myself, "Hmmm... What would Tom tell me?"

A little black and white dry fly jumped into my fingers. I deftly tied it to my tippet with a firm Haworth Haphazard Overhead Hug knot. (Yes. I named the knot I invented after myself.) Within two casts I landed a little rainbow trout!

Needless to say, I was absolutely elated! Tom and I exchanged imaginary hugs and high fives. He complimented my extraordinary fishing talent. I complimented his excellent tutelage.

Now, fast forward to day three and ten more fish later. I'm busy fly fishing my heart out, changing flies, changing tactics and changing locations, all the while looking for foam and casting to the seams. Three fish made a mockery of me by tugging my strike indicator under and letting go faster than a dog on a potato chip.

I had all but given up when my line hung up. I paused and didn't move, not wanting to lose my hook to the very large rock or log on which it was stuck. That was the last straw. As I stood there, I realized my leader was moving sideways in the current.

"Monster fish on!" I mentally screamed and set the hook with all my strength. My line shot out of the water and sailed over my head like a warning shot fired from a cannon. I never even saw the 20 pound brown trout that took my hook.

In all the videos and all the podcasts, never once did Tom tell me how to discern the difference between a large rock and a monster trout. This, I believe, is pertinent information that should be passed on to future fly fishing stars such as myself.

Come to think of it, Robert Field of Field Trips didn't either! As soon as I finish drafting my letter to Tom, I may be firing one off to Rob, also.

Micro-Cut: the New Diet Plan

I'm always looking for the newest, latest and greatest diet plan not only to maintain my weight, but to help shed the last few (dozen) pounds. Still trying to hit that goal weight!

To date I've scrapped conventional diet plans like Atkins, South Beach, Weight Watchers, Keto-whatever, SlimFast and the like. All perfectly fine for some, but I'm busy working on my own amazing new diet program. It's called, simply, Micro-Cut: the New Diet Plan.

I'm hard at work hammering out the details of what's certain to be the next big hit in dieting! Maybe I'll take my idea to Shark Tank. Or, perhaps, I'll bypass those silly number crunchers and take it straight to the public! Why share my millions with those guys?

The premise behind Micro-Cut is simple. The smaller the serving, the fewer calories. So simple it's practically genius!

Allow me to give you an example with a simple cake. A normal slice of that freshly made death by ultimate chocolate decadence cake would be approximately 2,374 calories. I don't know about you, but I would have to run two back to back marathons (Usain Bolt style) to work those calories off!

However, with Micro-Cut, you only get a fraction of the calories of that same slice! All you need is an incredibly sharp knife in order to slice that razor thin piece known as the Micro-Cut. The best part is that you can have THREE Micro-Cut slices and retain that amazing figure.

I can hear my scientifically-based doubters loud and clear -- if three Micro-Cuts equals one regular slice, then the calories still add up to the original number!

However, if you take the length of the Micro-Cut, juxtapose it with the width, then divide it by the square root of Pi, round that to the nearest hundredth, then add that to the ounces of healthy sugar in the frosting on the actual cut and subtract that number from the number of Micro-Cuts taken, then divide the entire cake calories... Well, it's practically zero!

As you can see, it's a win-win situation.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a new dessert to make! Au revoir!

Warning! Getting Sick Equals Extreme Whining

Getting sick sucks. Colds, allergies, infections and especially the flu!

I love to eat, so when I'm not asleep, my brain constantly tells me 'Food, man! Home all day so we can eat all day! Yay!' Meanwhile, my stomach says, 'Sure, but it'll come right back up. What ya gonna do? You're choice.'

Thank you Swiss Army Knife
for saving the day!

Other bodily functions don't work right, either.

"Honey, where's that ibuprofen you got for me?"

"You took it already."

"No.  I mean the ibuprofen you put in a separate container for me. In case I needed more?"

"I didn't."

"I distinctly remember you telling me you did. I saw you do it."

"Mmm hmmm."

"But..."

"Quit your belly aching! I'm getting it!"

And worst of all (besides not feeling well) is the medicine.

Let's start with the cost. Now I know for a fact that the manufacturing costs of a pill the size of a flea couldn't be $150. So where does all that money go? I have my ideas and all I'll say about that is that I would like a turn at the wheel of the Ferrari my money just helped pay for!

Then there is the dosage. Take two or three ibuprofen when needed, but six hours apart. Now take this pill after every loose movement, but don't exceed three in one day. This medicine will be one in the morning and afternoon, and two at dinner. This medicine, however, should only be taken in the morning, unless, of course, you're experiencing extreme discomfort.

Again, bodily functions, like brain operations prevent me from remembering what pill does what and when to take what and where and why.

Finally there is the medicine itself. Pop pop picked it up for me. I got the medicine and looked at the box. I couldn't make heads or tails of it, so I took a nap.

Refreshed from my nap, I examined the box again. It's a box in a box. The inner box contains a flap with an arrow where I pull the inner one out. Except the inner box is stuck. Now I may be in a slightly weakened state, but I could not pull it out. Aha! Pliers!

Now we're down to pushing the pill through a thin, aluminum-like membrane. Except it wasn't so thin. And the back was protected by more cardboard. After approximately 10 minutes of pushing, poking and swearing, I proceeded to get my pocket knife. That took care of it!

After finally taking my medicine, I was ready for another nap. Not only does getting sick suck, it's also extremely tiring.

Why Is It, Elementary Edition

I recently reread a piece written by the late, great Patrick McManus. Simply titled "Why Is It," the article is a list of 'why is its' geared toward the hunting and fishing crowd. Clearly Mr. McManus didn't teach second grade.

So, borrowing the title, here is my second grade version of the same article.

Why is it the loudest student in the classroom is the same student who doesn't like to be looked at?

Why is it that, before a test when the teacher asks if anyone has any questions, no one does?

Why is it that, after that same test has been passed out, half the classroom has questions?

Why is it there is always at least one student who asks, "What am I supposed to do," after directions have been given?

Why is it no kids have to use the restroom when asked?

Why is it that five minutes after being asked, one student has to go the restroom?

Why is it if one student suddenly has to go to the restroom, no less than five more have to go?

Why is it all pencil leads break at the same time during a test/pop quiz/writing assignment?

Why is it my pencil sharpener is louder than a full orchestra at maximum volume?

Why is it my kids want to hug on me only when they're sick and shouldn't be at school?

Why is it there are at least 72 ways to spell Alicia and they're all pronounced the same?

Why is it the same five students ask all morning long is it time for lunch/recess yet?

Why is it, after having two lessons on time (and there's a digital clock on the SMART Board), the same student constantly asks, "What time is it?"

The Lure of Fishing

It seems I have taken my trout fishing to a new level. I now have my very own padawan!

For those of you unaware of my neuroses, not only am I an avid fly fisherman, but I am also a nerd of the highest level! Hence the above Star Wars reference. (Thank you George Lucas, and Disney too, now, I suppose.)

My digression aside, I am eagerly training my brother-in-law (or Bil, for short) in the art of trout fishing with a fly rod. He told me he has a fly rod, but has not yet used it. He asked me to take him fishing.

Not my secret spot, but a lovely, fishy-looking
spot, I think.

Correct me if I'm wrong, but if you add those two statements together, he practically begged me to take him under my wing and mold him into a jedi master! Whoops! I meant to say fly fisherman extraordinaire.

My first assignment for my young padawan was to watch some very informative Orvis videos on fly fishing for the beginner. The second assignment was to meditate with his gear and a handful of river rocks scattered around his still form.

If any of them levitate, I told him, he should tell me immediately. I still haven't managed that, yet, and I want (need) to know how it's done.

Regardless, I have taken him with me for a few trips. I have regaled my immense knowledge on the subject of fish, fishing, lakes, streams, rivers, lures, lure presentation, weather conditions, the finicky nature of trout and life in general.

He seems to concentrate best with his eyes closed. By the time we reach our destinations, he likes to tease me by acting as though he just woke up. I'm enjoying his sense of humor!

Sadly, the poor, young lad has yet to land his first trout.

Worry not, my dear readers! As soon as the weather starts to warm, I will be taking him to my secret trout spot I discovered last year.

Now, if you'll pardon me, I'm off to meditate. During my last session, I think I saw one rock tremble.

Missing Pet -- Goes by Fang

Fang has died. I strongly suspect he met his demise. It is possible he lives on, but I doubt it and I certainly hope not.

For those unaware, Fang is a spider. He just showed up outside my bathroom window one day. He was orange and black, mostly, with a largish body, multiple eyes and glistening fangs, hence the name.

Thank you Party City for the reasonable
facsimile of the large spider outside my
bathroom window!

I've recently adopted a 'live and let live' policy and have tried to stop killing pesky bugs. Spiders included. Needless to say, it took considerable restraint to not open the window and spray heavy duty bathroom cleaner on this morning intruder.

When he first appeared, I tried to name him Charlotte. I tried some other cutesy names, but it's a spider! None of them stuck. Then I tried Fang. Obviously it was male because the name Fang just worked.

I talked to him every morning. I warned him that he was getting too big for his britches. I told him there was a good chance a bird was going to come along and eat him. I told him he was much to brazen just hanging in the middle of his web like that in plain view.

We carried on this one sided relationship for the better part of a month. One day... Poof! He was gone.

I kept an eye out for Fang for nearly a week afterward. Nothing. I still glance out the window in the mornings, but I don't really expect to see Fang anymore

Please don't delude yourself into thinking I became attached to a spider. Good riddance, and the next spider might not be so lucky...

Sniff, sniff.