I’m packing for my Tennessee trip (not that I’m rubbing it in or anything) and facing the usual pre-trip terrors.
In the past, I’ve headed off on multi-day trips leaving my wading boots, fishing license, fly boxes (yes) and even my wallet behind.
So what am I going to forget this time? And what’s in store for me at the airport?
I Loooove to Fly
I’m lying. I hate to fly. Anyone who remembers my last trip home from Maine — where we raced the length of two terminals, arrived at our connecting flight one minute early, and discovered our close, personal friends at the airline had departed five minutes early.
No better was our trip to Maine, which prompted me to write:
The truth is, I travel like most cats do, which is to say I curl up, make a lot of vicious noises, don’t want to be touched, and pray for it to end.
Then there are airline terminals, which – let’s face it – were designed to make you want to risk your life on an airplane. Alert Underground Reader Teerex says Hell was recently remodeled to make it even more sadistic using the lessons learned from airline terminals. I don’t doubt it for a second.
Once airborne, you’re allotted less space than your average veal calf, and force fed movies that were so pathetic they couldn’t even rise above the very low standard needed to succeed in today’s movie theaters.
You’ve Seen Mine. Now Show Me Yours.
So what’s your best/worst fly fishing travel story?
Forget something vital (like your fishing partner)? Break something? Lose something? Get screwed by an airline or hotel?
We’re listening. The Underground feels your pain, baby.
[tags]fly fishing, travel, tennessee[/tags]
Traveled to the Florida Keys for some DYI fly fishing. Weather was atrocious. High winds, cold temps (58 in the Keys is as good as ice on a river), and a ticking clock before I had to return home. Weather finally broke and I got a hot tip. Fish from the rip-rap under a particular bridge as the tide falls at dark. Tarpon will be loaded up in there. Sure enough, tarpon are rolling in the current under the bridge like trout rising under a covered bridge on a stream. Third cast about an 85 pound fish follows, but doesn’t eat. Next cast the rod broke! Unfortunately it was the next day before I could get a replacement and conditions weren’t the same the rest of the trip.
Ian(Quote)
“Next cast the rod broke!”
Did it just break, or did you whack something? Or did you simply apply some of that world-famous Ian “warp speed” strength on the forward cast?
I consider this a cautionary tale about the fragile quality of
lifegraphite fly rods…Tom Chandler(Quote)
I don’t know, but “warp speed strength” sounds good. Charity and I have had so many good to great trips that I’m sure this was the universe’s way of enforcing the law of averages.
Ian(Quote)
Well, I just got back from a combined Smokies/Shenandoah Nat’l Park trip…had a great time (over 50 brookies to hand), but in the course of fishing the Rapidan in Virginia I lost my hemostats, followed by my flotant and clippers. I gashed myself pretty good on the boulders. Then, on the way back to Louisiana, I fished the Smokies one last time….did great on my favorite brookie stream, then headed over to Tremont. Caught a couple of small rainbows, then decided I had better get moving if I was going to make it into the office the next day. I was leaving the last pool I fished and put my foot down off of a boulder, lost my balance, and went swimming. No big deal, except my $70 Target special cheapie camera was in my vest…it gave up the ghost. I don’t mind the loss of the camera, but I had a bunch of nice pictures in it. Then, to top it off, the last 200 miles of my drive home were in blinding rain, followed by 3 hours of sleep and back in the office.
Oh well, still beats almost sinking my boat (twice), in the same windy channel down here.
ijsouth(Quote)
My wife had to attend a seminar in Colorado Springs a few years back. Rods and tackle in luggage as advised we breezed through security and three J&B’s later we found ourselves esconced in the famed Broodmoor Hotel. The Hotel fishing guide was tied up he but steered me to one his favorite haunts. After a long drive and a short hike I found myself alone by a stream full of 14″ browns who,like the guide told me, like to pod up and sip nymphs all day(who doesn’t?). Next day we packed up,back to the airport,then through security. I was pulled aside and my carry on bag was pinned down by four security personnel who’s boring routine had just become exciting. Two held the bag.one rifled through the pockets and the fouth held my arm. The guard pulled out my bird and trout knife, my hemo’s,my Dr. Slick pliers. My wife had thrown my vest into my carry on! After an interview in a small room crowded with badges and guns I was allowed to Fed-Ex my knife and pliers home. I never saw the hemo’s again.
frogmorton(Quote)
I was taking a few days off in Myrtle Beach, SC and decided to try a bit of salt water fly fishing. I grabbed a 9 weight and set out for a marsh where I had seen baitfish busting the surface being chased by bluefish. When I got there I walked down a trail by the side of the water and sure enough something big was chasing the baitfish. I crept closer to the water getting into position to make the cast. I needed just one more step to be in the perfect place and sudddenly I was up to my waist in fluff mud. I tried to wiggle out only to find that the mud was also full of broken oyster shells which were slicing my legs to ribbons every time I made the slightest move. Luckily there was a clump of grass near by and I was able to, painfully, pull my self out of the mud. I didn’t even get to make one cast before I had to give up and limp back home. I also discovered that marsh mud smells very much like rotten eggs.
Murdock(Quote)
A very minor screwup, compared to the others, but FWIW:
About 10 years ago, when I had just taken up fly fishing, I was in Western Pennsylvania for work and drove about 2 hours to fish in Slippery Rock Creek. As I suited up, I realized I’d left my wading boots behind in the hotel. Unwilling to drive back to get them, and certainly unwilling to give up an afternoon’s fishing, I went ahead without the boots. I soon learned, the hard way, how Slippery Rock Creek got its name. And the neoprene booties on my waders took a beating. But I caught some fish and had a good time, so it was well worth it.
eric(Quote)
In 1995 I flew Delta to Connecticut to fish the Farmington River and the Hoosatonic. Upon arrival my luggage with fishing gear was lost. This I considered an excellent opportunity to hot-foot it to the local Orvis outfitter (name forgotton) and buy all of the stuff I had been lusting for. The next day my luggage arrived and I had Delta deliver it to the outfitters. The new gear is no longer new but fishes as sweet today as it did in ’95
Peter M Spirito(Quote)
Well, this stuff is a start, but at this rate, I’ll never get enough material for the book I wanted to write titled “Fly Fishing — The Manliest Sport on Earth Except For Chess.”
I better come up with a different book idea.
Tom Chandler(Quote)