BC poetry

zen leecher aka bill w

born to work, forced to fish
#1
I also visit flybc.ca fishing forum as I've fished with some of the members in the distant past.

Here's a poem of fishing and loons written by ron fish out of Kamloops. He must be a distant relation of Robert Service as he employs the same poetic meter.

The Mutant Loon of Lac le Jeune

There are strange things done in the midday sun
By the men who fish for trout
The Kamloops Lakes have their share of flakes
Whose sanity is in doubt
The fishing guys often hear big lies
But the biggest that they ever heard
Was that day with the loon from Lac LeJeune
I was outfoxed by a bird


A bunch of the boys were angling for trout on a lake high in the hills
The guide that outfits the rowboats was tying flies for thrills
Back of the main lake, under a bridge, on little Lac LeJeune
Waiting and watching, was that feathered fiend, the bird that’s known as Loon

Out in the sun, it was one hundred and one, and the water blazed with the glare
The German tourists were doffing their duds and basking brazenly bare
My neck was burnt, my butt was bruised and the sweat gushed from my pores
My back was stiff, my throat was parched and my hands were raw from the oars
I’d been fishing since dawn without any luck and now it was just about noon
Out rang the mocking laugh of that vile vulture, the bird that’s known as Loon

Anchored near the reeds, off by himself, was a foulmouthed fly caster named Rafe Mair
Cussing and cursing, all in a rage, that paragon of profanity could swear!
His old hat was pulled low, his face was hairy and his belly gone to pot
His backcast slapped the water, his line was in coils and his leader in a knot
I guessed that this greybeard had advice to spare so I asked him “what should I do?”
“Son you’re a nitwit, a total misfit, you’re a gangtroller without a clue”
“Stow that hardware my boy and try a fly, real men don’t fish with a spoon”
“Just steer clear of that piscivorous pirate, the bird that’s known as Loon”

I tried a mayfly, a dragon and a damsel without a rise or a nibble
I threw a bloodworm, a Spratley and a Tom Thumb (match the hatch purists would quibble)
I was down to my last fly, a chironomid not much more than a hook
With a drowned louse’s strength I gave it a fling and watched with a desperate look
I thought I was dreaming as my line straightened with a barely perceptible tug
I struck like a cobra and felt the hook set, deep in the trout’s jaw went my bug
High in the air shot a gleaming Rainbow, like a rocket thrusting for the moon
Stirring in the distance was that diving demon, the bird that’s known as Loon

Some men quest for gold and some for glory but I seek the thrill of the fight
A silver bullet with a scarlet stripe, a prime Kamloops is an awesome sight
This trout was big and in my mind he’s grown to proportions of epic reknown
My backing was going faster than bottled water when spring runoff turns brown
My reel gave a banshee’s wail as he pulled like a runaway train
He danced and darted then jumped high like an acrobat again
After white knuckle runs he was starting to tire, the net would be coming soon
Then I hear a shout “ Watch out for that beaked bandit!” (the bird that’s known as Loon)

I reeled like a man possessed. He was next to the boat. But all to no avail
A winged torpedo with a crocodile’s beak wolfed my fish from head to tail
Trembling with fury, I brandished my rod like a club. If only I’d had a gun!
A tourist screamed. Two eyes the red of hellfire loomed. Two wings blocked out the sun
The boat capsized with a splash. My tackle flashed as it sank to the mire and the muck
Thrashing and gasping for air, I swallowed the wake of two tons of mutant duck
So for those of you on Northern lake that wonder at nature’s haunting tune
Don’t be fooled. It’s the song of that scheming siren, the bird that’s know as Loon

These are the plain facts of my tale, and surely I ought to know
They say that I was dazed by the sun, but I don’t believe that’s so
I’m not so wise as the dry fly guys, but it’s not like me to swoon
The fowl that dumped me – and pinched my fish- was the bird that’s known as Loon
 
#2
I`m going to be fishing a lake very close to LLJ this afternoon , and keep my eyes peeled , and keep the Loon magnets a.k.a Hardy Lightweights at home .:)
 

psycho

Active Member
#5
Fly BC gatherings are just a bunch of teetotalers sitting around talking about flies, fishing and old age.:D Except when we talk about Norm AKA Mr. five foot twenty.:cool:
 

zen leecher aka bill w

born to work, forced to fish
#6
Fly BC gatherings are just a bunch of teetotalers sitting around talking about flies, fishing and old age.:D Except when we talk about Norm AKA Mr. five foot twenty.:cool:
I went to one of the outings at Logan Lake and never saw much drinking. Might have been because I retired early. There were a lot of stragglers getting up in the morning though.
 
#9
Robert Service indeed! Starts with an obvious reference to the Cremation of Sam MgGee, then segues into The Shooting of Dan MacGrew.

I loved the bit about the German tourists, having seen that myself a time or three... A talented fella and a fun read! Thanks!
 

Irafly

Indi "Ira" Jones
#13
F'ing loons! Last time I fished up there all you had to do was raise your rod and hoot a bit and they'd swim over to see if you had a fish on. I know that lake well, and the German tourists. Ole Gordon Honey (the greatest guide ever out of that area) lived on the lake and he's lost one or two flies to the loons. They do fight amazingly well though, I'll give them that.
 
#14
F'ing loons! Last time I fished up there all you had to do was raise your rod and hoot a bit and they'd swim over to see if you had a fish on. I know that lake well, and the German tourists. Ole Gordon Honey (the greatest guide ever out of that area) lived on the lake and he's lost one or two flies to the loons. They do fight amazingly well though, I'll give them that.
Gordon passed away recently .
 

Irafly

Indi "Ira" Jones
#15
Gordon passed away recently .
I'd heard, very sad he was an incredible fisher and guide the area will miss his presence. I'd been chironomiding for a few years and had hired him once before, when a friend of mine and I decided to fish with him for the sole purpose of picking his brain about midge fishing. Those two days of fishing with him was more than worth the price of admission!

It was with him that I learned the phrase F'ing loons... I think anyway :)