I Cast, Therefore I Am!
To cast, or not to cast. That is the question.
Whether tis nobler in the mind to suffer the slings and arrows of bad casting or to take arms against a sea of poor technique, and by opposing, cast well. To dump line, to get skunked, no more.
And by the Spey cast to say we end the heartache and the thousand natural shocks that flyfishing's heir to, tis a consumaton devoutly to be wished. To short line, to single hand, no more.
To Cast, to Spey! to Spey, perchance to fight Steelhead! Aye! There's the rub! For in that battle of wills what dreams may come, once we have shuffled off this mortal single hander, must give us pause....There's the respect that makes calamity of fishing short rods.
For who would bear the whips and scorn of Spey; The bait casters wrong, the short liners contumely, the pangs of not reaching the lie, the insolence of high sticking , the 27 backcast delay, and the spurn that deep wader the unnecessary makes while he himself his lie he reach with a fine long rod ? Who would casters bear to grunt and sweat under a weary single hander, but the fear of something after double hauling, That undiscovered country from whose bourne no traveller returns puzzles the will and makes us rather bear those short rod than fly to long loops we know not of.
Thus, long bellies do make cowards of us all.
And thus the native hue of 100 foot cast is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of bad casting and enterprises of great casts and steelhead their currents turn awry and lose the name of action.
Soft you cast, now.
The fair Native hen, nymph, in thine horizons be all my sins remembered.
Wm Shakespeare on the river Spey, circa 1654