Green is the Color of my Tr...

I now understand that our sport, our avocation, the glorious challenge of fooling a creature with the cranial capacity of an unripe pea, has been stripping the planet of its resources. It is time that I take the moral high ground; a position which, being novel, frightens me (as well, I suffer from nosebleeds at altitude). But no longer shall I, as a sportsman concerned about the plight of our ecosystem, continue to squander non-renewable resources.

The first step is simplicity itself. I need only examine all the elements of my fly fishing kit for signs of non-renewable components. Obviously, the graphite fly rod must go; it is but fiber-reinforced-plastic, a vestige of the days of petroleum-derived polymers. The graphite (carbon) may appear innocuous, but not when you consider that we each produce so much in the process of respiration. Given the choice of a Sage, or continuing to exhale, the meanest sagacity favors breathing. Besides a suitable substitute may be made by hand from an Asian grass, some bark of the Portuguese cork oak, a tad of cocobolo wood, a few bamboo ferrules, and guides re-cycled from an old Payne.

Next, the plastic (Polyvinyl Chloride) fly line will be replaced with a fine French silk line, organically created with the assistance of mulberry leaves and moths. The reel of turned aluminum must go; it can be replicated in Greek briar. The leader is touchy; but I must be firm -- I must take to stabbing silkworms in the gut and drawing my own gut leaders.

The flies, ah, the flies -- for those I must make sweeping changes. Instead of artificial hair for long streamers, I shall return to the fine long black or white locks of the Sacred African Monkey -- they are now rare, but they should still know how to reproduce; if not, suitable manuals could be printed with erotic line drawings on re-cycled paper and left high in the canopy of the African rainforest.

Polar bear for the beautiful translucence its unique fiber-optic hairs provide should be readily available soon -- they are running out of ice. Dubbing, now commonly made from extruded synthetic polymers, is best from natural sources; not only can I utilize readily renewable elements of the natural environment, but corollary benefits accrue. The act of kneeling on an ice-flow while clubbing a baby seal is very similar to casting in a small stream situation -- I'm sure after the first dozen I will finally learn not to bring the club past one o'clock (they have thin skulls, those baby seals). The wrist snap at the end is entirely appropriate to both endeavors. Thus I can enjoy casting practice and procure my dubbing with one blow.

Silk floss and silk thread are still readily available. The use of any of the myriad synthetic body materials must stop. Fortunately, there remain extant many of the fowl one requires for fly tying. Blue Chatterer skins may no longer sell for 77 cents, and I will need to secure my condor quills by cover of darkness; but, as the fate of the planet hangs in the balance, needs must. Hooks are indeed an issue. Re-cycling some of my early masterpieces for their hooks will be useful; but I may finally resort to standing at an intersection holding a sign "Will work for Mustad 94840s."

I had no thoughts that this would be easy. Sacrifices will be required -- I can only hope they will be someone else's. But I will save this planet -- one false-cast at a time.

© 2006 Reed F. Curry