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Ronan's report

Thursday 10th October, 2013

We all love comfort zones. All we do week in week out is to provide comfortable life to our lives, even if one is single, homeless and jobless. The measure of comfort from one person to another is relative though. Like, having heaps of money is not important to some but it is a dream for most. The question of how much money is definitely relative. The more the merrier but it does not necessary make you happier. The point about having lots of money is it gives you freedom. And freedom is comforting.

So too is our fishing. In the coldest of winters or at the hottest tropic, we look for the best possible situation in the worst of predicaments. We get the best fishing gear and prepared for the worst case scenario. Then there is another dimension to the whole thing. We hardly go fishing alone, always with our fishing buddy or buddies for companion, safety and comfort. This is, I for one, treasure the most.

Many years ago in the mid-1990s, I had a Canadian fishing buddy by the name of Larry Pamplin. A gem of a mate, we fly fished the Malaysian swamps and gravel pits for giant snakeheads. He was a trout man from Alberta who had the Bow River as his home turf but he spent a great deal of years abroad particularly Malaysia and the Far East working as a petroleum engineer. Larry took the local culture like fish to water. It was not difficult to take him fishing around the paddy fields and villages where he was humble, easy to mix and blend in, but of course being a six footer white man he stuck out like a sore thumb. We conducted fly fishing and fly tying clinics our own and together travelled fairly regularly around Kuala Lumpur, fishing. He was the best buddy I ever had until he left for Calgary for retirement a few years back. From then on I lost contact with him until now.

Travelling and fishing in a group is even trickier, especially if one is already comfortable in one particular group of people year in year out, a new unknown soul joining may cause uneasiness on board. Once, fishing a week long in the Maldives, I was paired in a cabin with a lovely guy who initially I thought was a failed comedian. But he turned out to be a doctor! As the days wore on he became so comically and medically annoying, I felt like slapping fifty times before he went to sleep. On the third night, I could have chocked him and rolled his limp body overboard in the wee hours so that I would not hear his cheerful chatters when he opened his eyes at six o'clock in the next morning. The trouble was he actually started talking at five o'clock! I figured out that night that I could give bad dreams as my mitigating circumstances to escape the murder charge at the Maldivian Sharia Court!

As luck would have it, I refrained myself from being a violent gentleman so everybody had to endure the scatty mares' gibberish talks for one week. But somehow in the end I made peace with him and we got on very well ever since, the scatty mare! Since then, I worry for my yearly sojourn - who else I would be paired with as I am not the organizer of the trip. I could be short changed in a way that I would not enjoy the fishing and the company. I won't have bad dreams no more, just bloody nightmares! So don't blame me for wishing for Sam Fox as the cabin mate even if she is probably sixty years old now, for I am sure that her silicons are still holding up, as when you are at sea for a number of days even the plain old coconuts are seen in a different light.

Lovely Jubbly
Irhamy the Guv'nor, Kuala Lumpur

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