Hello all New to the site and would like to say hi.
Getting old sucks! .
I remember when it happened.... I was sitting in the Bambi Club in Tijuana Mexico, with 6 of my closest Navy buddies, watching a little senorita do her thing. One of my friends, said "Try this ..It’s called Mescal It’ll put hair on your chest Steve"… As the paint remover known as Mescal burned my esophagus and I grasped the Crane Fly Larvae with my tongue, my ability to fly became apparent.Shortly after my consumption a decision was made to blow this popsicle stand and migrate North . I soon found myself lagging behind as we approached the down side of the pedestrian bridge that crossed the "Fecal River" that separates the “Haves” from the Coke Dealers.I stood atop the bridge gazing out accross the expance of an open air market.
Realizing I was all alone on top of the stairwell with my “Friends” 3 stories down and a good ¼ mile ahead of me. I decided to do the only logical thing,a person recently gifted with flight can do, swoop on down and catch up.
I climbed over the edge grabbed on and hung for what seemed like an eternity.My grip sizzling on the concrete parapet expedited my decision. I mustered up the stupidity too release.
Ahaa.. Flight...so effortless..so majestic.. so beautiful. Unfortunately my Mezzcal feathers could not overcome the immediate pull of gravity. As I plummeted to the earth at almost 12 feet per second. POP! I did not realize flying hurt. Hum,that’s strange..The most intense pain my 18 year old body had ever felt. I thought of the Geese in Colorado and wondered if their legs hurt like this when they landed..Nah they flare out upon landing.I flailed about upon landing. Close but no cigar..wow that Mescal stuff is good..
30 something years later..
Whenever the cold gets to that “Bone Chiller” or the humidity get’s to that “Soaked Shirt” level, my ability to fly is remembered upon me in the form of debilitating pain. A reminder of youthful exuberance and life time of excess. Man that Mescal stuff is good.
It’s been a long time since I’ve seen moving water, put on waders or felt the crispness of a South Park morning on my face.
So today being the 1st day I awoke without an enormous amount of pain and the ability to walk again without the aid of a cane. I stand knee deep in a river flinging crane fly larvae and other trout food at some ginormous specimen of Salmo Troutta. With many followers and many takers of various offerings ranging from Giant #4 woolly’s to tiny #24 midges in all colors. I thank God my life did not end that day in Tijuana, I thank him for my lesson in flight, I thank him for teaching me what a “Crane Fly Larva” is really for.As the worm gets chased again...
I spent the Day Fishing the Charlie Meyers section of the South Platte .What a gas. My creel was less than spectacular but managed some nice fish. I forgot my camera at work,so you'll just have to take my word for it. Fly fishing a great river in pain is testament to dedication and devotion to a sport that gives so much and asks very little. It's good to be alive It's good that past indiscretion's did not take from me the thing that are held near and dear..
Man that Mescal is good stuff. Tight lines all..
DOK
