One thought on “TBT: Lefty Kreh, Charlie Meyers and Bob Clouser–bucket list fishing spot”
As something of a life-long funster and merry prankster who has never taken the vast majority of things held to be serious by serious-minded “Grown Up” others too seriously, I once responded to a Bucket List – Last Day Out thread on an British online forum frequented by some particularly big fish-hungry names and no-name wannabes. My contribution to it, from memory:
“Um…. Now give me a second…. Ah yes… Without a moment’s hesitation I would fish a spot that I never got round to telling even my neighbour’s pet dog about let alone anybody capable of wielding a fishing rod in set-jawed expectation and anger…. The fish there were of very good size and, far more more importantly, sufficiently challenging of your skills to be difficult enough to be worth fishing for, the place as newly minted and untrodden pristine as any lover of wild places could ever hope for. It’s … it’s … nope … I am so sorry … it’s slipped my mind … again … it’s gone again … so sorry.”.
The forum promptly melted down and descended into a few days of dire personal insult and cojones-out acrimony, so telling me and any innocent bystander looking incredulously on much about a certain sort of modern fisher.
Fragment of an old song, about Old Friends, by Simon and Garfunkel, from my late childhood, has just walked into my warped mind and created an immediately named earworm; I’ll leave you with it:
Long ago it must be
I have a photograph
Preserve your memories
They’re all that’s left you
As something of a life-long funster and merry prankster who has never taken the vast majority of things held to be serious by serious-minded “Grown Up” others too seriously, I once responded to a Bucket List – Last Day Out thread on an British online forum frequented by some particularly big fish-hungry names and no-name wannabes. My contribution to it, from memory:
“Um…. Now give me a second…. Ah yes… Without a moment’s hesitation I would fish a spot that I never got round to telling even my neighbour’s pet dog about let alone anybody capable of wielding a fishing rod in set-jawed expectation and anger…. The fish there were of very good size and, far more more importantly, sufficiently challenging of your skills to be difficult enough to be worth fishing for, the place as newly minted and untrodden pristine as any lover of wild places could ever hope for. It’s … it’s … nope … I am so sorry … it’s slipped my mind … again … it’s gone again … so sorry.”.
The forum promptly melted down and descended into a few days of dire personal insult and cojones-out acrimony, so telling me and any innocent bystander looking incredulously on much about a certain sort of modern fisher.
Fragment of an old song, about Old Friends, by Simon and Garfunkel, from my late childhood, has just walked into my warped mind and created an immediately named earworm; I’ll leave you with it:
Long ago it must be
I have a photograph
Preserve your memories
They’re all that’s left you