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Two Impossibilities 19/09/05

I discovered something quite startling while in Canada last week. It is this: two impossibilities make it possible. This astounding discovery may change the rest of your life. I for one could do with a bit of a change and so I'm hopeful. Allow me to explain…

I've been fishing Dave's Dead Caddis the world over, from Spain to Denmark, England, Scotland and Germany, all across America and of course everywhere in New Zealand and in that time I have not only not had one take but I have managed to successfully spook hundreds, if not thousands, of fish. Mainly trout, but also salmon, barbel, chub, carp, pike, minnows and various other species too numerous to mention. In short catching anything on one of Dave's Dead Caddises is quite impossible.

I wasn't aggrieved by the fact that Dave sent me an impossible fly; quite the reverse. You can have good fun with such a thing, for example in New Zealand when a fish lies doggo, spooked from your initial attempts, and now completely immune to temptation, one drift through the run with Dave's Dead Caddis will completely remove the pool of all fish as they take off in all directions. Such is His power.

Saltfly, as you know, is another impossibility. I've been fishing the salt for fifteen years, the world over, and only recently discovered that through belief or imagination – which may or may not be the same thing, depending on your beliefs – and passing through into other worlds, with the assistance of hallucinogenic flytying materials, such as seal's fur, one could imagine takes. This is obviously quite revolutionary but not many understand it – and that's because they try to.

However, last week, while fishing with Dead Caddis Dave, I launched one of his Dead Caddises into an estuary. I figured that since we were attempting the impossible I might as well go the whole way and fish an impossible fly.

And out of that estuary, in less than two hours, on one of Dave's Dead Caddises, I caught one 6-inch Flounder.

I know: pick yourself up from the floor. But don't get too excited, it may never happen again – impossibilities are like that.

And so I'm back again in the UK, at sea level, and today while flicking the rod around I had a few problems. I've been living, throwing, breathing, fishing, drinking, chatting up da ladies and running the past four months at over a mile high (6800 feet, which is almost 1.3 miles according to Google). When I arrived in West my casting initially turned to crap; I was carrying too much line, everything felt light but now I'm back at sea level everything feels heavy and for some reason my tracking was out of plane. I have no explanation for that but it took me over an hour to stop my loops collapsing – which I found quite interesting. I've lost a few feet too but I'll claw some back tomorrow. It's the same with running. It took around a month to get used to running around Hebgen, but back at sea level I'm fairly flying along, leaping over fences, bounding across ditches, sprinting above ploughed fields…

It's all go round here.

And I have an enormous shootout in my garden soon and there's a trip to Denmark where Viking Lars is arranging a casting course and we'll be fishing the salt with Dave's Dead Caddis and I'll be hanging out in bakers' shops – I've come to the conclusion that I don't want one women any more and in fact I want many. That may come as a shock to you family dudes out there, but I think that's freedom. It's something we've talked about before and you know I'm right. Of course the way to get many women is to look for one or “the one” – which I am of course. But since there's no such thing as “the one” it's the journey that matters and as in all of life's journeys, the travelling is always more exciting than the destination.

Anyway I've had two “ones” and so what the hell does that tell you?

A little bit of life philosophy for you there, because after all, I am a bit of a spiritual guru – when I'm not walking on water and eating Tofu. So I'm sitting here, tuning into the Great Force, asking for guidance. Should I hang around for two months, make some money, tie some fluff, cast and examine at the AAPGAI, invite myself to the Flyfair… or hang around for one month, fly straight to New Zealand, fix my tyre, exhaust and drive North like the wind and fish the late Tongariro runs… or should I stay one month, fly to Brisbane, catch up with friends I haven't seen in years, fish Dave's Dead Caddis in the Noosa estuary for imaginary and impossible Trevally, give Karen a flycasting lesson from hell and arrive in New Zealand in time for opening day so I can fish with Camo-Guy and Bumcast – Oh Great One?

The Great Force is speaking… it is saying, “Australian women are easy, go there dude, you know it makes sense.”

Hmmm. So anyway, Dave, who's a very cool guy, good caster, great with dead trees, as well as caddis, a wonderful host – especially when it comes to finding the small fish – Puritan (yes I know), is looking after the Eggplant and promises to send a picture of it when it's beneath 10 feet of snow. Such is life in Halifax. Halifax is 3000 miles from West Yellowstone by the way, a journey which takes 3 days.

So far I really like the Canadians; I haven't been arrested yet and there's no hassle when I try to cross the border. They don't take my car to pieces for example or want to know what I do for a living. Well actually they do want to know what I do for a living, but they believe me. Next summer I'll spend more time in Canada, but I'll head back to Montana too, because it's a great place and I'm starting to get to know some cool – albeit slightly mad – people there.

In fact West Yellowstone could become another Te Anau / Noosa for me. You know, when you travel all the time, from time to time you need to place footprints, and I just happen to be placing them in some of the world's most amazing places. One Planet.

Right must work out how to print labels; I'm behind on DVD production. Enlightenment should be out sometime soon…


PS Thanks Dave for the entertaining flies, when I get a chance I'll send you some flies which do work, just so you have something with which to compare.

Related links: Vortex archives

Essential Bush Skills

The start of any flytying good flytying sequence involves squirting The Light of Apgai on your polyprops
Both alarm and curiousity set in when the polyprops start melting
Putting the lid back on the jar to stop *that* happening again
The flytying proper is underway
Notice the composure, that's true class that is
A difficult bit, you can tell that from the vacant expression
Essential bush skills: the third hand
Notice my hat here, it's quite daring
Snip, snip
I'm not quite sure what I'm doing here, but it's cool
Trimming an oversize hackle that appears to have become trapped in the whip finnish manoevre
Delicate precision work, the hallmark of any good flytyer
A sexy catch...

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