The Village Idiot

I used to jog! Many would call it running, but an eight minute plus per mile rate deserves the name of jogging. In the beginning, there were lots of interruptions by those who obviously didn't think I was serious about my hobby and conditioning. Finally, I reached a hard conclusion. To put things in perspective, I needed to convince those around me that I was crazy!

I did an excellent job! I ran at night. I ran in the summer heat. I ran in rain, snow, sleet, and other nasty, severe conditions. The only thing I would not run in was a thunderstorm. Convincing myself of being an idiot was not part of my plan. I had proven that point in the past during my duck hunting days!

Somewhere along the way, either one of two things must have happened. Either I grew too old or lazy to run, or my body told me to pursue an easier type of conditioning. Running can take its toll on a man with a football/basketball build. As each injury would occur, my body would tell me a different story concerning recuperation time than "Runner's World". The running magazines are not tuned in to the middle aged giants of the world. Now I try to keep a somewhat regular schedule of walking for fitness. Sometimes I get lax, but that's another story.

 

Somewhere during the running days, I began looking for a more ridiculous hobby. I opted for fly fishing, and the fish I hoped to pursue were trout. At the time, I didn't know the difference between a brown, a rainbow, a brook, and a cutthroat. I just knew that I wanted to catch them, and I still do!

Now, a crappie fisherman has a purpose in life. No fish is any higher on my list of edible products than the Southern "white perch" or "sac-a-lait", as my Louisiana friends call it. I've tried trout in a variety of ways, but if you ever wonder why trout fishermen believe so strongly in catch and release, I can explain it in no more than hour or two.

My wife is the greatest of women. She has managed to endure my antics for over 30 years now. Our relationship is outstanding. I do believe, however, that she has kept her sanity through this time by sharpening the claws of her wit on the hard stone of my stupidity. She delights in the little missteps I make. She has about 10 stories in her repertoire of demeaning Johnny tales that she loves to whip out like a Scottish claymore sword to anyone with ears. She then swings it with brutality. One of these stories has to do with my stomach problems and the smell of the Ashdown paper mill that she did not know existed when we were dating. I promise that the smell did not come from me! But that's another story.

Being the astute peruser (not pursuer, I've already used that word) of knowledge that I am, I bought a book on the subject, "Fly Fishing for Dummies" to begin my education. The title was appropriate, or at least my wife thought so! I just didn't realize how much at the time. The book is quite good, and I recently passed it on to a wayward young man with the desire to punish himself by learning the hobby.

I bought the book to read as we made a cross country trip. When my wife drove, I read. She was particularly amused at my pantomiming of the 10 o'clock, 2 o'clock casting movement. Within 48 hours of her observation of this, probably most of the people in the entire Bible Belt had heard her version of my in-car practice sessions.

Keep in mind that my only fly fishing purchase at this time was a book. After a little reading, I judged what areas the author was right about my needs and proceeded to make a list of necessary equipment to begin my adventures. Since by this time I was an authority (lots of people make this mistake, but that doesn't ease my pain), I purchased a 7 1/2 rod from one of the large stores that bass fishermen frequent. It cast like a noodle and was too short for a beginner, although I still occasionally take it bream fishing since it makes any catch seem like Moby Dick. My reel was a Martin Classic, and even though I still have a soft spot in my heart for the cheap things, I paid too much for it. The store where I bought it also had flies on sale ( I found out later they were closing down), so I stocked up! Knowing that what the writers were saying about lines had to be a scam, I bought the cheapest line I could from Wal-Mart. It's a wonder that I ever got past the first 3 months.

After assembling my equipment (keep in mind that I did it all myself), I began the casting practice necessary to become the next Lefty Kreh. Once again, I made an error in judgment. Instead of practicing in the back yard, I went to the front next to the street. I can't tell you how many times various neighbors stopped and asked the same question, "Are you catching anything?" It just goes to show that some people don't have much of an original sense of humor! I increased my time in the yard, because it was apparent that I once again needed to convince the neighborhood that I was crazy! You will be surprised how this works. Wear wild clothes, answer questions with ranting and raving about the purity of fly fishing, and engage anyone who asks a question in a long technical conversation about the sport. I promise that they will soon leave you alone! A serious tactical error though was that I now had given my wife another stupid story to add to her list. In a relatively short period of time however, I was river ready!

My fly fishing began on the Little Missouri tailwaters in the month of July. Those of you who know the river are now shaking your heads. There were fish, lots of fish, but nothing I did would make them bite. On my third fishing trip, I hooked and landed my first trout on a size 16 elk hair caddis. It was the most beautiful fish I had ever seen! The next trip, I caught 2, and each successive trip for a while saw an increase in catch numbers. But that's another story.

One of the problems that I quickly noticed on the river was that my backcast constantly slapped the water. How could this be so when I seemed to do so well in the yard? With deep thought and multiple calculations, it occurred to me that standing in 2 feet of water took away two feet of air that was available for a low backcast during practice. The wheels of thought begin to grind. I had realized a solution!

It was at this point that I made the gravest tactical error of my early fly fishing career. It is this error in judgment that elevated me to the classification of village idiot. The Lord has blessed us with certain gifts that we don't often consider such as the darkness of night, unpopulated fields (except for cows, etc.), and bodies of water. My error was that I once again went to the front yard to practice my new method. With no idea of the consequences involved, I dropped to my knees to simulate standing in knee-deep water and began to cast from that position. In this whole realm of mankind, in the entirety of a billion people in China, nearly 300 million in the great United States, and the 1400 in Mineral Springs, AR, the one person with whom I should be most concerned saw me! My wife!

Time has not completely erased all the pain of ridicule that I've endured from both family and neighbors. Several years, lots of trips, and many caught fish have happened since those days. When I started tying, I was smart enough to never say, "I'll tie my own flies to save money!", for from the beginning, I knew that frugality was not part of the fly fishing hobby. My wife has asked me on numerous occasions, "How many rods do you have?" I refuse to answer, saying that to count them would be bad luck. Still hanging over my head like an axe, however, is the idea that she will never forget the few miscalculations in judgment that I've made, and will continue to repeat them, especially at family gatherings. This rides hard on my self-confidence. Even now, she enjoys going fishing with me, claiming only to sit in the car and read a book while I think she has hidden away somewhere a pair of binoculars and notebook.

Happily though, from the neighbors I receive very little attention now. They wave as they go by and chuckle at the village idiot!

 

thoughts by Johnny McJunkins.     email: jmcjunki@texarkanacollege.edu 

[ Home  |   My TC Page   |  Texarkana College ]