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Who What and Why?


Guest Mike Connor

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Guest Mike Connor

Who am I and what do I do, is the burning question here

How did I start ? and why did I start ? the answer is quite clear,

I went fishing once when I was young, and got hit by this awful bug,

to cast hopeful flies at errant fish, or even worms I dug.

 

I cant explain the reason why this gives me so much pleasure,

it simply is the finest way to spend my hard earned leisure.

My wife and friends are all agreed I must be off my head,

but I will keep on fishing now until I am stone dead

 

I speak a different language too, with friends who fish the fly,

soft hackles, dries, and nymphs, and things, and of course I tie.

I have a room now in my house chock full of hair and fluff,

and still I strive the best I can to extend my range of stuff.

 

I learned to cast as best I could out on a local pool,

I just ignored the wondering looks, although I felt a fool.

The line was wrapped around my head, and sometimes round my feet,

but I was bitten by the bug, and would not concede defeat.

 

Now I cast with practiced ease, in forty different styles,

I´ve learned to catch a lot of fish, and know many of their wiles

I have a rod for every day, some cheap ones and some dear,

In fact I think I have a rod for each day of the year.

 

Lines I have, and reels and bags, and hats and coats and hooks,

Some libraries even would be jealous of my horde of fishing books.

all these things have helped to make my life a pleasure and a joy,

and for this gift I thank my dad, who took me fishing as a boy.

 

For many who have never fished, and can not know our dreams,

or why we stand in winter snow or summer sun to ply our favourite streams,

the whole thing is a mystery, a puzzle without sense or reason,

how can it be that we just live for yet another fishing season ?

 

The moment when the yearned for fish has grabbed our clumsy fly,

exalted and excruciating moment, but brother angler why ?

why should this moment cause us such wild and rare emotion ?

and then the fight, our fear that he escape in the commotion.

 

Landed then, and on display for all to see and wonder,

his beauty fading now, perhaps it was a blunder ?

Let him go to fight another day may well be your first thought

Explain this to your friends,in spite of all the lovely gear you bought.

 

Why pay out all this hard earned money, and waste your hard won leisure day,

to hook a fish and beat him and then see him safely on his way ?

Perhaps it is a rather fruitless sport to sally forth and hunt for fish with flies,

No one will believe you when you say you need the exercise.

 

You might buy a thousand fish for the cost of catching these,

Explain this brother angler, I humbly beg you please,

I cannot explain this drive, although I sometimes feel I must,

Just take them fishing once, and most will see, you fish because you must.

 

A game for children, a waste of worthy time in truth ?

or perhaps a way to keep a grasp on now declining youth ?

I grow older now, and must bow my head to times unbending sway,

If I were bound to live again then I would tread that self same way.

 

Strange that fishing should be such a major part of life,

looming sometimes quite as large, as work or kids or wife,

An anchor and a steadfast friend through all the passing years,

providing hope and pleasure and escape through all the trouble strife and tears

 

There are of course so many far more important things,

than catching fish on tiny imitation things with wings,

In fact upon reflection I think there must be many,

Odd and somewhat disconcerting that I can not think of any.

 

When I arrive at heavens gates and Peter greets me with a sigh,

and berates me for the time I wasted fishing with a fly,

he´ll relent and say oh, well then come on in my son,

do you have a decent pattern for a large dark olive dun ?

 

Tight lines !

 

Mike Connor

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