Fly-fishing for girls: expectations
The 'flies' in fly-fishing are not reel.
I imagine, regular fishing--the expected
piercing of an animal smaller than the one you wish
to hook dangling from a line,
bait soaking in the water long enough to elicit a bite,
the bite that snags the barbed-hook,
giving a quick puncture, a tear in the lip,
and, perhaps, a slight snack swallowed
by the large animal
before being dragged
against the current
and into the air.
"It's not like that, Hun."
Imagine
securing a bait-fly to a barbed hook:
the silky wings, now crunchy in death and dehydration,
turn to falling confetti
towards the bottom of the boat
the very moment pinched by fingers
to lift him from the container;
his tiny body shreds
as the tip of the hook begins to pierce the abdomen,
and long before it ever reaches the thorax,
the shape is mangled
and becomes thick goo between the angler's fingers.
"No, Babe, we 'tie flies.'"
Imagine
tying knots in line
in ways clever enough to create loops
in which to place a fly,
and pull with such skill, ever so slightly,
to fasten that fly to the end of the line.
Instead, his fly-head is decapitated as the line cinches tight.
"Aw Darlin', there ain't no flies in fly-fishing!"
My Angler,
he hooks
pompoms, feathers and fuzzy things
in the line
with knots and bows
only to look like flies.
The fish are impressed.
