|The Girl In the Mercedes and Float Tube|
Siggey Freud is best known for his theory that sex is the most powerful motivator, consciously and subconsciously, of all human behavior. From this information alone one could conclude that S.
Freud is 1) male, and 2) never fly fished. History, as we know, confirms our conclusion on both accounts. Siggy's maleness has never been seriously questioned. But fly fishing more important
X-wife-#1 can confirm the latter on the basis of her success, or rather lack of it, at ,umm, distracting me at critical times when the fishing was either good, or promised to be. Now don't get me wrong, overall x-wife-#1's attractiveness, and my potential responsiveness to it, was not even on our list of
marital problems. But on several occasions she did, from the shoreline, try the ultimate seduction act. I will admit though it was difficult to concentrate on rising fish in front of me with a rapidly disrobing, very physically attractive, maritally kosher, so to speak, woman on the bank calling out to me. A choice like
that really separates the men from the boys.
One can observe the power of fly fishing in the way men are unable to suppress their piscatorial lust and voyeurism in their "fish stories" the way they do their sexual encounters. There are certain rules of modicum in face-to-face sexual story telling, a point beyond which it the conversation does not stray. But in fish stories, the power is overwhelming and uncontrollable. Precise tidbits and sweaty details, dripping with energy, are revealed in a continuous stream. The teller and listeners alike begin to fidget, breathe more deeply; sweat appears on the brow and upper lip, blood pressure and pulse rise; and at the end of the story, flushed with emotion and shared yearning, they make an immediate date. To go fishing!
"Right in the middle of the hatch I spotted this little dimple, deep under the tree branches. I could tell it was twice as big as anything I had seen on the river up to that point. The fish was rising, not really rising so much as caressing the surface rhythmically, every few seconds, taking in another insect, dorsal fin and tail (nakedly) exposed. Each time it turned slightly, the water in the pocket rocked and surged. I knew it would take only the most precise cast to present the fly in it's narrow feeding lane and not spook a fish so completely and uncharacteristically exposed. I changed to my lightest leader, lengthened the tippet just to be safe, and began stalking as close as I dared. I waited until I could feel
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