The Underground has long held an appreciation for writer Hugh Koontz – a North Carolina-based newspaper editor who writes about fly fishing – often employing the wildest, most over-the-top metaphors we’ve read.
The Maestro of Metaphor now has his own blog, so those with a desire for a daily metaphorical fix – and some nice writing along the way – should tune in. What will you find? Metaphors like:
The air was cold enough to force me to switch hands carrying the rod every minute or so, and a rain as steady as life’s miseries spit in my face.
or,
I set out to find new water. I left the three lonely, fishless fly fishers and strolled along a soft carpet of leaves soggy as cornflakes. The path, when I could see it, felt like a thick rug.
Even if you’re not entranced by his metaphors, his simple, direct style is worth a look:
As engineers, beavers have few peers. While their abodes did not impress me with their aesthetic qualities, they were sturdy. It really looked like somebody spilled a truckfull of sticks.
It was pretty though. After a couple tries with the yellow fly, I sat back to drink all this in. Tall brown grass rimmed the ponds. The mountains were smoking through the mist. The sky looked like a freshly painted battleship from my hometown of Norfolk, VA.
And the air tasted sweet and clean.
I asked Kevin Howell of Davidson River Outfitters if there were, indeed, trout in those ponds, and he assured me there were but that late spring and early summer were the best times to fish there. Come back later.
See you on the Internet, Tom Chandler.
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