Fly Fishing

Fly Fishing
Flies and Flies, the choice is so abundant
For which one will bite you, before
You cast it out on line so fine
And pray that fish will bite first.Some of them bite, not fish but you, and swell you do
Not with pride of catch, but pain of flesh taken from your hide.
Cast fly with rod and it goes lost, when whipped overhead
Into grass so fine, or hangs up in the branches. Now take this angler who catches not flies,
He makes his own to imitate their likes, from feather and thread,
To look like flies which we could not see,
As they hide under rock and in the lee,
With this he casts to a hope and a swirl and if he is lucky
A trout will burst out of water and whirl.Sometimes a meal will be made from this catch,
Or it is released for another to try his good luck,
Or if you were lucky it will adorn your wall
To show how a cast of finesse has rewarded you this fine prize.How to perfect this cast and not catch your ear,
And send it out in a breeze to its goal
A spot in the water you had thought should hold bounty.
Your eyes were tricked by the sunlight, into hopeful glory,
You dream of a trout on the line,
When actually you snagged a leaf in the bushes.
Cast again and its target is true, but not a nibble to be felt on your offering,You change the fly with another from your vest,
Which the store had said for this day was the best.
Try once again, to present it to your dream, and loft it to that spot,
Which you thought will hold your reward.
Alas, a tug, then a burst from the surface to a light in your eye.Fly-Fishing is not luck, but the choice of the fly,
The flick of the rod, cast to trick the fish into thinking of food.
It is art in the placement, and presentation to where the food should be found.
Hopefully rewards will be brought to your net, for the table
Or release back to water, while you only practice your skill.We wander all day, to tease fish and be bitten by flies, and the fishing bug.
Lost from our world of problems and stress,
As we stroll along the creek or serpentine stream
In tune with nature, only looking for swirls in the pools as we dream.
Dressed are we for water in rubber and vest, with hardware dangling from strings and small clips, and a net we do carry to land fish and the brambles.
We trade our city troubles for leisure while we ramble,
Through thicket and clearing by stream towards a bend where we know,
Where this pool will await us.Come evening we land ourselves back in the car, with rewards of a workout or trophy in Creel, and head for the homestead with recipes just swirling.
We plan to prepare, the feast, which God has granted us that day.
Then get home and prepare the fish, then savour its taste,
This feast for a King with a goblet of wine, we will dine,
Amid dreams, of the next foray to stream.This angler gives thanks for the bounty of game from the waters,
and the sunshine above, and the chance to go out again, hopefully soon.Now which fly was it that bit me, can I tie to hook? Peter Köhl
© 2007 Peter Köhl
September 3rd, 2000