Why I Fish Barbless Flies -...

Once a fly rod is in my hands I exhibit a rare sense of connectedness to all things… the connection typically establishing itself on the backcast. I’ve found that the likelihood of securely hooking myself is only diminished by the number of other objects I find to hook - trees, logs, rocks, bats, swallows. So long as I am surrounded by a comforting array of defenseless objects, I suppose I could fish with barbed hooks; but what about that day I am wading deep in a wide stream with no trees within reach? I don't take that chance.

Generally I don't hook mammals, as they are clever enough to acknowledge my casting skill. Also, my casting distance is limited - by the needs of the fishing, of course - so most remotely mobile creatures, especially fish, elude my hook. However, normally stationary objects seem to exert an attractive force on my flies. This probably could be explained by magnetic forces - the magnetic poles will be shifting soon and they may be enjoying some practice runs.

I would someday like to fish from a drift boat. Unfortunately, I had to give up that sport some years ago after a misunderstanding on the "X" River. Apparently close proximity to a world-class caster generates too much excitement in some people. Once, I adroitly covered a rise with my guide's hat. The Filson's rim fit perfectly within the spreading rings left by the trout. Rather than acknowledge the skill necessary to this feat, said guide had some harsh words -

delicacy forbids their inclusion here - and my fishing partner refused to remove his cheek from the floorboards of the boat. Word soon spread in the fishing community about my skill, but it was not sufficient to overcome the calumny put forward by those - even my innate modesty must assume - less graceful casters. Now nary a driftboat will bear me upon those pellucid waters. (Deep sigh).

I have received some expressions of sympathy from those who think I am lonely while fishing. That is far from the case. I enjoy the company of excellent fishing partners to and from distant streams; I even shout to them during the day. It is only their fear of encroaching on my fishing that prevents their approach while I have a fly rod in hand.

Until recently, when fishing my local stream I was never alone. Once word got out that I was fishing, the lawn chairs appeared and people lined the banks. I would always accept this fame in good spirit (though I suspect that the local supermarket only sent their stockboy down to collect the grocery carts I snagged). Several youth photographed me casting and I can say that they made good money on the photos [note to self - get the negatives, too].

I once caught the attention of the local cable network - apparently I was on local cable... at least my fly had hooked it and the wet leader had fallen onto a power line. There was no prosecution, but I received several death threats if I ever fished during playoffs again.

Finally the local EMTs petitioned the town council for funds to cover their oxygen purchases - people with delicate health were so overcome by my casting performance that their paroxysms required resuscitation. At this point the town discovered an old ordinance - really quite obscure - denying fishing within town limits to anyone with a fishing license number from B173954 up to, and not including, B173955. As my license number was in the restricted range I have not fished my beloved stream since.