How Do I Spell Relief
By Gideon McCain
It’s been a while since I last wrote
about my fly fishing exploits, and I must say my technique has improved dramatically. At
least that’s my opinion, along the same lines as "the more I drink, the better
looking I get". If you can’t trust your own opinion, who’s can you trust?
Well…enough of that, I have to tell you the story of my first fish caught with a fly!
It was a dreary overcast morning the fog
was as thick as the smoke at a Grateful Dead concert. I stepped out of my truck adorned
from head to toe in fly-fishing regalia, ready to battle one of the most feared fish in
the Rogue River. So feared it has been given the ominous moniker of STEELHEAD, sounds more
like a James Bond villain than a fish, nevertheless I am here to capture one of these
monsters of the Rogue.
I stroll to the waters edge with my
soulmate Taylor by my side, she’s always leery of any adventure that puts me in harms
way. The melodic sound of the raging river as it smoothes the rocks trapped in its belly,
calls to my soul like the song of Parthenope to Ulysses. I wade out waist deep into the
river; its swift current embraces me like a warm hug from a long lost friend. I stand
silent for a moment, eyes closed, enjoying my fate in life. When something comes to me, an
epiphany of sorts; and I realize that not only does the sound of the river call to my
soul, but to my bladder as well. My remarkably full bladder. Which now possess a sense of
urgency that is often related to that of a racehorse. I scramble up the rocks to the
parking lot; I spot a Porta-Potty on the far side of the lot. I make a mad dash towards
what has now become my temporary Nirvana. I twitch, twist and walk knock-kneed, like some
three-year-old boy waiting for a shopping mall Santa after drinking a Big Gulp. Half way
across the lot I realize, I have on three…no, make that four layers of clothing
(including my underwear). All of which possess an intricate system on buttons, snaps,
buckles, zippers, toggles, levers and so on! In an attempt to save time I begin my
striptease about twenty yards before reaching my quest for enlightenment. I shed my
clothing faster than a newlywed couple on their honeymoon.
The trail of debris that follows me looks
as though a sporting goods store has exploded behind me. I burst into, what I now
laughingly refer to as Satan’s fiberglass Sarcophagus, the stench of a thousand
tortured, decaying souls slaps me hard across the face like a woman scorned. I poke my
head out into the fresh air and inhale as deeply as I can and hold it. I step inside as
the door closes behind me with a loud "BANG". I am now sealed like an unwilling
servant in King Tut’s Tomb. The pressure of my overfilled bladder coupled with the
diaphragmatic down force from holding my breath, allows me to empty myself faster than a
keg at a "Delta House" frat party. Finally, I am finished, and just in
time too, as I can no longer hold my breath. I burst out into the sunlight and fresh air,
as my eyes, burning from the caustic gases, attempt to adjust to the light, I realize that
my burlesque boogie across the parking lot has drawn a small crowd, which to my
embarrassment, begins to clap.
So, there I stand with my waders around
my ankles with nothing on but my Fruit of the Loom briefs and a smile. After 44 years of
life, I have learned that the instances when people actually clap for you are far and few
between, so I did what comes natural. I gave my best Broadway stage bow and curtsey,
pulled up my waders and waved to the crowd as I picked up the rest of my clothing. I then
dressed and proceeded to fish as if nothing had happened. Taylor refused to come out of
the bushes until everyone had left! As for the fish story, perhaps another time.
Gideon McCain 2004 © |
