(Here's a re-posting of a tongue-in-cheek oldie but goody)
He stood proudly along the banks of the stream. All the many chromed metal accessories that hung from his clean, starched vest shined brightly in the mid-morning sun. His poly-blend waders made from the most modern materials known to science were creased down the middle of his legs. Their logo, prominently displayed in pure white letters, was exposed through the open middle section of his vest, letting everyone know this was a serious angler. Surveying the stream with a firm expression he looked like a cross between a high ranking official in some futuristic military & a one man band. Either way he was prepared, being decked out in every accessory possible from that finest of gentlemen's outfitter catalog.
The rod he held in his hand was the finest money could buy. It was split-bamboo hand crafted just for him to his exacting specifications by an old, wise rod maker from a forgotten, tucked-away part of the country where trout live & it snows a lot in the winter. Fitted with the finest components that could be attained, it was a beautiful casting tool of the highest order. It had taken three years for the rod maker to craft. Even more importantly it made him feel, - no, it made him look - like a master fly angler. One gaze upon him from his fellow anglers would demand respect.
As he tied the fly onto his leader & confidently stepped into the stream he casually asked himself, "How hard can this fishing thing really be"?
The rod he held in his hand was the finest money could buy. It was split-bamboo hand crafted just for him to his exacting specifications by an old, wise rod maker from a forgotten, tucked-away part of the country where trout live & it snows a lot in the winter. Fitted with the finest components that could be attained, it was a beautiful casting tool of the highest order. It had taken three years for the rod maker to craft. Even more importantly it made him feel, - no, it made him look - like a master fly angler. One gaze upon him from his fellow anglers would demand respect.
As he tied the fly onto his leader & confidently stepped into the stream he casually asked himself, "How hard can this fishing thing really be"?
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