Lighter Side

What is life if there is not laughter? Welcome to the lighter side of flyfishing! We welcome your stories here!
January 20th, 2003

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

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