The catalogues just keep a’ coming

These days, each time I walk out to the mailbox, I find another slick, beautiful catalog that’s chock-full of items no fly fisher should be without.

Now I will admit, when it comes to fly fishing I have almost as many toys as my pal George Smith, the laird of Creek Hollow Farm. The difference is, I actually fish with my gear. George only takes his out at the dark of the moon. He lovingly fondles each rod and reel, inspects every fly box and admires all of his perfectly tied flies. He then carefully packs them away again where no trout can possibly put its slimy mouth upon them.

Ed Hewitt once wrote that there are three stages in a fly fisher’s life. My friend George has apparently reached the nirvana of a fourth.

I carry so much gear that my Texas fishing buddy Willy Landem has laughingly told me, “Yankee, you carry so much gear in that fishing shirt, you would go straight to the bottom and stay there if you ever fell while wading the Brazos.” While I can smile at Willy’s exaggeration, I am daunted by the fact that he invariably out-fishes me, while traveling far lighter.

This week, dear wife almost collapsed in disbelief when she overheard me ordering two new fly boxes from one of the newly arrived catalogs. She sternly pointed out that I already own enough fly boxes to stock all the fly shops in the vicinity of Hancock, NY. While that may or may not be true, the fly boxes I ordered are unique.

Imagine this, fellow fly fishers: They are only one-half inch thick! What red-blooded fly fisher could resist the sensual appeal of such a slim box containing 18 compartments? They will be perfect for all the teeny tiny flies I am now carrying in far bulkier boxes.

When I attempted to explain this to Barbara Ann, she simply stared at me, shook her head and walked away. She had finally realized that there is no reasoning with a fly box junky.

When these catalogs arrived, I solemnly swore that this year I would absolutely not purchase a single item of fly tying material. I presently have 20 shoeboxes and seven large plastic crates filled with hooks, rooster and hen feathers, fur and hair from nearly every animal that walks the earth, plus all manner of synthetic fly tying materials.

Alas, the spirit was willing but the flesh was weak. Each time I felt the urge to possess a new and spectacular bit of fly tying material I repeated the mantra, over and over, “You do not need this. You do not need this.”

Sadly, the lust to possess, at times, overwhelmed the practicality of no need.

The silly item of gear this year goes to the Cortland Line Company. They are now selling some lines in half weights, supposedly to allow you to balance your rod to the perfect weight line. A more useless idea is hard to imagine. All of the graphite rods that I own will throw both a one weight lighter and a one weight heavier line than the weight recommended by the manufacturer. There is no need for half-weight lines.

Perhaps it is time to start a new political movement. The federal government seems hell-bent on protecting us from every possible danger to our health and wealth. What we need is a rule, once again stretching the interstate commerce section of the constitution, prohibiting the mailing of these seductive catalogs in order to protect innocent and unsophisticated fly fishers and fly tiers. Are we not a minority worthy of such protection? There oughta be a law!

With Saint Patrick’s Day upon us, all of us here in the great state of Texas—Willy Landem, his cousin Split Kane, the Tangler and Barbara Ann—wish you top o’ the mornin’. May your road never lead uphill and may the wind always be at your back.