Tidal Report and a request for poetic license in Pink Reports

wadin' boot

Donny, you're out of your element...
#1
I cast from a kayak- this I’ll confide
In the last of the low tides
In an estuary I’ll confess
A herring fly with flashabou dress
Dumbbell eyes and a gray chenille trunk
Both black and white with marabou junk

I twerked it in time with pleasureboat wakes
Behind branches big with weeds I wished for takes
through waters swirled green and gin clear
Atop an iron-hooped creosote pylon an osprey appeared
Below it and among those sodden logs draped with dross
There was a fish we’ll call The Mighty Hoss

With incoming tide the wind changed its pitch
Accordioned my cast- made a mess of this be-aatch
The current put on a passable mend
To the riverbed where that fly could creep and contend
Kicking up silt bunnies that chased like tiny Djinn
And down there that’s where that Devil Hoss would go all in

Imagine a reel without drag a rod without merit,
And a fly’s stuck fast in Big Hoss’ Ferrit
A kayak anchored fast in sedimentary muck
An angler who shouts out “Holy Fatima”
For The Mighty Hoss has struck with incredible force
Pulled line to the East, the West and Burlington North

God's my witness and sos the Osprey and seals
A reel wound too loose is a dangerous deal
There goes the young coconut juice in a tangle of line
A mess of fat loops cinches my bind
Big Hoss is pulling fifteen-freight cars long
I gots 3x I aks what else could go wrong?

The rod it would seem- it snapped up high
See high sticking is something you don’t try
With a giant creature intent on returning to the sea
If not for that tangle I coulda prevented Big Hoss flee'n...
With thumps and kicks the line got super tight
And ---TING---Hoss was gone, thank you good night

The moral of the story if there is one to be told
Is fish now before you get old
And if it's too windy to fish Lincoln Park for pinks
Fish Boot’s Tonic Herring fly me thinks.
I’ll sell it for $10 and I’ll guarantee no loss
Like Triggs one thing I won’t sellout is the lurkum of Big Hoss

Oh and care for your rod, care for your reel
And before the fish gods I now kneel
Humbled and thrilled
(Maybe I'll become more skilled?)
Naah not me-I like it half-assed- I'll tip my young coconut juice and smile
Outta respect for Big Hoss once and a while


(Broke my cheap Gi-Joes rod- though not in the manner sorta fictionalized above, I tried the rod tip into the murk to dislodge the stuck fly technique, and the top quarter, like the fly, never re-appeared. That $99 North X Northwest rod was by far my favorite go-to. I realized my reel is/was crap (again) and tangled with searuns and bulls and was snapped off in a clean, knot-free break by something of generous proportions. That's my report. And with any luck I'd like to encourage the soon to be monotonous dirge of "I caught these pinks" reports be written with poetry instead, preferably bad poetry with a lots of bad rhyming. I mean there's a lot to rhyme with pink, hootchie, jig etc etc. Bad/funny Photoshop also accepted. I will promise one Boot's Tonic herring fly to a pink report with a ton of "likes" as incentive. That's like a $10 value right there. I mean it's kind of a big deal when you think about it.)
 

Jim Wallace

Smells like low tide.
#2
Slow afternoon yesterday, eh?:D

Well, I noticed Boot's poem
And cried out a moan,
Because it dredged up memories of folly my own.
Freeing a stuck fly with a treasured rod's tip,
Is a "no-no" for sure,
That can end your fishin' trip!:p
 

flyfool

Active Member
#4
I hurried down to the sea again,
the lonely sky and sea,
Drove right up to my Secret Spot;
nobody there but me.
The day was really sunny
and everything just so nice
So it completely escaped me
that I forgot to buy any ice.
It was a good day of fishing & wading;
I caught me plenty of pinks
Now I just have to explain to the wife
why her Honda stinks.
 

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