A Conspiracy? - Fly Fishing Forum
Pacific Northwest Sea Run Forum No such thing as rainbow trout, only landlocked steelhead

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Old 03-10-2003, 09:30 PM
Mean Mr Mustard
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Wink A Conspiracy?

Mean couple of rascals OR where’s my briefs?

On a journey to nirvana I found hell on Earth! A demonic crew hell bent on seeking revenge for my former self’s extremist views on ethics took me to task and only the purity of my soul (writer privilege) saved me from their deviousness. Then, again, there are indications that some kind of anal vacuum saved me, but I am unable to find them – the indications, the threads of evidence. I’ll make this brief… then again, maybe not.

It all started right here about a year ago. During a gentlemanly discourse on Fly Fishing Ethics I playfully aired my archaic views. Soon after, with the conflagration having been extinguished during the follow-up whizzing contest, I was mysteriously invited to what appeared to be a fishing trip/float on one of the PNW’s premier rivers. Little did I know what was before me?

Soon enough it was time for the trip and I awoke early to a localized snowstorm. Beating back my desire for both warmth and more sleep, I proceeded on my promised journey to meet my new torturers, I mean friends. The snow changed to rain as I neared the meeting point; rain so hard that the wipers couldn’t keep up and I was often forced to slow to a crawl. Maybe I should have run for home but no, I continued on.

On first impression, my 1st host (skipper for this narrative) seemed like a nice chap and after exchanging pleasantries we continued to the put-in where we met up with his cohort (2nd host and first mate for this journey). As we waited for dawn, I conversed with the first mate and professed my inability to spey cast river-left. I was assured that there would be no problem.

The devil is in the details.

Barely able to see my comrades, we launched. And it started to rain. Hard. After unloading the skipper on the right bank, the first mate and I made the long passage cross-river depositing me on the left bank. Left Bank! I don’t do Left Bank!

I tried. Oh how hard I tried. Failing miserably, I looked up only to find the skipper mocking me from the far bank. I mean, they will someday name a line of spey rods after this guy and yet here he struggles? No way. A nagging feeling begins to take over – he’s teasing me!

After about three hours of backbreaking torture we meet again to continue our trip down river. The skipper is again deposited on the right bank while I am forced to cross. Oh great, another left bank for me! I’m sure the first mate could see the shudder and hear the enthusiasm that rumbled out over such good tidings.

Suddenly the odyssey took another turn – Siren. You know, as in The Sirens. No, not a musical group! I mean the Sirens of mythology, the ones that lure sailors to their doom. (I have heard, third hand or better, that this one sunk a boat on the OP. Sure sounds like a Siren to me.) Well she starts up a conversation with the first mate but luckily we are ashore and she does us no harm as she slips by with her charges. Time passes as we chat about her charm. [By reputation – singular.]

Oh yeah, the skipper nailed a nice dolly (not to be confused with the solo county music performer of historic proportions) but my view was limited by the distance and my determination to keep from drowning amongst the slick boulders.

Speaking of skipper, it was time to pick him up. On the Right Bank. My Bank! And we do. And we float down stream. And the skipper tries to kill me. Or so I am beginning to think.

We bounce from boulder to boulder, taking a break on occasion from the sheer terror to haul the boat over the shallows. Then we go vertical - rapids. I mean to say that we found every hole and follow-up breaching wave on that stretch. You know the water is rough when you look back and find the stern eight feet BELOW you. …another look, eight feet ABOVE you. That’s where the anal vacuum saved me. I mean to say that I was seriously puckered to that seat. The seat and I were like one.

Oh, did I mention the rocks cascading down the hillsides and into the river as we passed, seemingly as if the dark forces of nature were also at odds with my well-being? Did I mention rain? The skipper and mate were forced to bail at least five times. My lighters were soaked as well as my tobacco. Actually, most everything was soaked on me; I guess the gore-tex stuff works better with the hood up [Note to self: get wide-brimmed hat or use the hood.]. What with me being so wet and, all this left bank stuff, I would have been better served with snorkel and fins. And we fished on.

Finally, a Right Bank! Cast after cast failed; all the while those guys smoking their cigars and quietly giggling at my antics. Yes I heard you, or was that the temptress singing in my ears? It was beyond teasing. It was torture. And I was out of coffee.

More Left Bank. More rapids. The early onset of hypothermia. Then we reach the take-out. Joyous in the belief that I am still alive, I view the ramp. It would instill fear in a mountain goat. No way he is going to get the drift boat up that by driving. We’re talking a muddy 50-degree slope or more with a two-foot ledge at the top. No way.

Sure is a nice Jeep!

Well, I obviously survived. I am home, now, nursing a mild case of hypothermia and inflamed hemorrhoids, but happy to be alive. Oh, and the briefs? I can’t find them. Seems the puckers got the best of them.

Mean rascals? What’s not to like - My kind of people. And my name is…

Mean Mr Mustard


O.C. and Sinktip – thanks guys, all in fun. Despite the horrid weather, it was swell! I’d fish a flowing lava field with you two gentlemen, any day.

:eyecrazy: :eyecrazy:
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  #2  
Old 03-10-2003, 11:11 PM
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sinktip sinktip is offline
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Mr. Mustard,

I enjoyed it very much. In fact, other than reading your account of the day, it is the most fun I have had in some time. Now you have no excuses for not hitting that first right bank spot at least one morning a week. And by the way, my apologies for not clarifying who I was addressing when I stated, "you cast like you make love, too quickly".

Till next time.

sinktip
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Old 03-10-2003, 11:55 PM
Mean Mr Mustard
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Quote:
Originally posted by sinktip
Mr. Mustard,

And by the way, my apologies for not clarifying who I was addressing when I stated, "you cast like you make love, too quickly".

sinktip
I took it well seeing as how I am 53 years old and have an attractive wife of 40 (who constantly brings me home fly tying stuff and marabou flies - she's big into marabou, must come from her days as an exotic dancer.) I must be doing something right.

mmm

I got to thinking about the too fast thingy. Okay it's fast and collapses 30 feet in front of me. With 60 feet of line out that means a 30 foot stack mend is preset. Nice loooong drift before the swing. Let's call it the Diobsud drift and swing. Hey, we always pushing the edge up here on the Skagit.

Last edited by Mean Mr Mustard; 03-11-2003 at 03:21 AM.
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  #4  
Old 03-13-2003, 12:40 PM
OC OC is offline
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Wink

Mr Mustard,

Just got back from the Columbia River project. Read your descriptive account of our Sunday float and couldn't help but think of the good old days picking mushrooms. Want you to know that I was a bit nervous talking with the Siren but at our age one can overcome fears for the sake of experience. Besides wearing waders and all that heavy rain gear I felt as if I was tied to the mast and no harm could come. Latter down river talking with Sean about the experience he, Tyler and Juro had with her I realized I was truely playing where a man my age should not have played. But we all made it just fine and had a fine wet fishing day.

Hope we get to do it again next year!
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Old 03-13-2003, 01:37 PM
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juro juro is offline
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Awesome account Mr. Mustard, sounds like a good day's winter steelheadin' to me. Enjoyed the read thoroughly - say could you guys go fishing again and post another? It's starting to snow here again and I've come to appreciate humor more than ever.
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Old 03-13-2003, 03:04 PM
OC OC is offline
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Juro,

If we fished today, 3/13/03 we could tell tales of casting into tree tops as Bass Masters do on southern reservoirs. Rain, rain and much more rain, this is all people are talking about out here on the Westside. Our rivers are flooding beyond thier banks and Steelhead are swimming where cows once grazed and where old lumberjacks left table top like stumps for wood devils to deal yet another hand of moss poker.

We will fish again when god stops watering his lawn. Snow for you and rain for us just as it should be. For many of us maybe it's time for a trip where the sun shines, the swells move into shore from the NW and sailfish and marlin like the looks of green, yellow and blue feathers.
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