I’ve got the itch…might just be the crabs.

23 Sep

I have never been one of those guys who sits around pontificating about why I fish.  I am not some sort of heady fly fishing version of Patrick Swayze (god rest his soul…Roadhouse rules!) in Point Break.  I am not some sort of zen trout monk who sits by himself in the woods thinking about the ebbs and flows of the life force and other such nonsense . I am, however, someone who needs water and fish as much as I need air.  So the past few days have felt like someone stuck their pinky in my neck hole. My little corner of the mountains has gotten over seven inches of rain this month with a couple more inches on the way through the weekend.  I wasn’t around for the hurricanes in the 90’s but I have been told that the rivers are as high as they have been since then and unless I am mistaken we haven’t had a hurricane up here, just a monsoon.  I haven’t personally fished in almost two weeks and haven’t been able to put clients on the water for a few days…I am officially saying, no check that, crying Uncle. We have reached the saturation point for both the water tables and my soul and I can’t take no mo’.

With all this non-fishing time on my hands I have been able to channel my energy into all kinds of productive outlets.  I now check my favorite fishing blogs at east eight times a day (No fellas you aren’t getting more popular, I am just bored and the hope you have posted something new and fishy for me to ogle is really all I have left), I also have finally caught up on my fly tying.  I now have enough eggs and eggi-juan’s to hook every trout stocked in North Carolina this fall with a couple to spare just in case my clients exercise some creative backcasting and bury them in the trees instead of the trout.  The wifey’s list of crap to do before the baby comes has been crossed off item by item (why my unborn son needs me to organize the office closet before his arrival escapes me).  I have also taken the time to finally go though my boat bag full of horrors and consolidate all the flies in plastic pucks from the shop back into my boxes as well as having fished all my loose tippet back through the appropriate hole (That’s what she said…I know a little on the nose, but not even close to getting old yet) on the spool wrap .

There is not much left for me to do at this point except go fish.  I have almost forgotten what it feels like…I remember it to be much like walking through a meadow on a cool fall morning.  The bugs chirping, the brook babbling, it’s all coming back to me.  I think Julie Andrews (or was it Reah Pearlman?…I can never remember) was there twirling and singing some inane song about the hills, but I digress.

Yikes, she's got a great personality

Yikes, Reah Pearlman's got a great personality

In all seriousness though, if I am not standing in a river by this weekend I am going to freak out like Latoya at the funeral, and nobody wants that.  Wish me and my loved ones luck.

– Nymph-o


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