“Without a doubt, White people outshine every other race on the planet. Always have. Call me racist, call me another Hitler, call me a Klansman — I don’t give a flying flock — we are GD FRIGGIN’ GREAT!”
I REMEMBER THAT fine early fall day just like it was yesterday. My fly fishing pal and I were at one of the better trout rivers in my state, when we finally worked our way up to this one very beautiful, wide pool sitting beneath a verdant green cow pasture in the bright sunshine. We could just make out the pod of sleek brown trout silently finning in the middle current like a fleet of tiny submarines — here and there one would quickly surface to noisily suck down a struggling late summer insect drifting by on the sparkling, sunlit waters. A real-life vision of Elysium lay before us.
Since it was my turn to take first crack, my buddy stayed up in the pasture to bird dog a little for me, or maybe to just laughingly narrate my angling mistakes to any nearby moo cow. Sure enough, my first two casts were pretty lame. But it didn’t seem to spook the fish much and on my third cast, I somehow managed a long, perfectly rolling arc, with the monofilament leader curving to the right like a major league pitcher’s best spitball — dropping my very own artfully tied grasshopper imitation just far enough upstream to realistically drift down into the trout’s kill zone.
Whammo! A huge brown smashed into it, greedy for what it thought was a big fat tasty bug. I lifted up my rod to gently set the hook and the four, maybe five pound fish danced and surged wildly across the pool. But I lost him after a thrilling half minute or so, when my gossamer thin two pound tippet gave way (which I should have changed out earlier). For whatever reasons, I always seem to remember every single big fishing battle I lost like this one, instead of those all-too-few times when I do manage to land or boat a nice fish (usually released back into the water). But I guess that’s how we get better at things — we learn from our mistakes.