I have a confession to make.

Actually not a confession, a confession is an admission of guilt for a crime or failing.  This is more of an embarrassing fun fact.

Flyosophy Fun Fact:  The Flyosopher has no friends.  His mother, however, is blameless for his funny attire…he did that himself.

“Nothing but heaven itself is better than a friend who is really a friend.”
Plautus

For reasons I do not understand, many people think I am making a joke when I state this claim.  A few others may likely feel mildly offended.  Rest assured I am not joking, though I will point out that I don’t consider my siblings, cousins, brother-in-law, or the Stanphy’s as “friends” – I understand that some people are in the habit of blurring the family/friends line – I am not, but I have been told I have an “All or Nothing” quality to my somewhat limited personality.

In case you are wondering this is the manner in which that line is drawn – a family member is someone who if acting a fool – in a manner detrimental to their health or overall happiness- I would not think twice about beating them down with no fear of legal reprisals – I would expect (and have duly received) the same considerations from them.  I believe the world would be a better place if this policy was accepted by the general population.  I am not proud to say, but I know at least two people who could possibly be alive today had I cared enough to kick their asses.  I didn’t, and I have to live with that – I would not be able to live with that for a family member.  So instead of placing one of the billions of quotes about friendship here, I’ll write my own.

“A friend is a person who will kick your ass when you totally have it coming. No wait that is more of a brother…a friend is someone who visits you when you broke your back.”

The Flyosopher

Now, we could blame my Avoidant Personality Disorder, a lack of social grace, the simple reality that most people really are annoying as all hell and not worth the effort of knowing, or we could take the simple linguistic route and accept that I may place a higher value on the word “friend” than most people.

“He was only a fox like a hundred thousand other foxes. But I have made him my friend, and now he is unique in all the world.”

Antoine de Saint-Exupéry – The Little Prince – so one French guy was good for something

By now I am sure you are thinking that I have mentioned other people in this very blog, the folk I fish with must surely be my friends…Not quite – they fall into a different category: The Fishing Buddy.

In some ways more and some ways less important that a mere friend, a fishing buddy is a person you invite into your life to share its most beautiful moments.

Now I understand some feebs may think that crap like – I don’t know – the birth of a child or a wedding or something like that are life’s most beautiful moments.

LIES, LIES on top of LIES.

Consider these realities:

Some doctor hands you a stinky, slimy, larval human, that is crying like a bitch and says something cliché like “It’s a Boy.”  Whoopee-doo!!!  Or worse some woman looks at you with sickly wet eyes and says “I do” to the question of does she want to live in your house and make your life a living hell, heaping stress upon stress on you.  She will nag when you don’t have enough money; she’ll bitch from the couch where she watches her “stories” when you work too much to earn it. Then she’ll develop all these “needs” like some emotional quadriplegic. Then she’ll either A. Leave you and take half your stuff – or B. stay with you until all that stress finally kills your retarded ass and the last thing you’ll hear is her bitching about how your death inconveniences her.

OR

You are standing knee-deep in the Atlantic but mere yards from the continental shelf.  Bluefish are busting on peanut bunker, but just beyond your casting range bluefin tuna are feeding on the bluefish.  The giant beasts are so close that the wake from their passage knocks against your knees, which are knocking against each other.  You turn to your fishing buddy who is casting a peanut pattern at the bluefish and call him a series of insults pertaining to his lack of upper body strength and sexual preference – though none of these claims are true he can’t dispute them because you just tied on a yak-hair fly nearly two feet long to tempt the leviathans.  You sloppily cast it, on your third attempt you get the timing right and send it out 60 feet.  Your fly quivers over a hundred foot drop.  You wait and the water around the fly quakes with emotion as a fish with pectoral fins longer than you are tall and an eye the size of your face explodes on the fly.  The yak hair is in its mouth, the hook is not; your heart bounces between regret and relief.  You turn to your buddy for the assurance that what you witnessed did in fact happen.  His slack-jawed stare is all he need say.  This is a moment that will replay in your dreams, and has changed your life – you still need to change your waders.

I think we all know what the more important life event is.  A fishing buddy is one of the single most important relationships you will ever have.  But it is conditional – let’s say hypothetically every fish in the world vanished, no fishing = no fishing buddies.  The very best fishing buddies tend to be people with whom under normal circumstances you would never associate.  A good buddy can make those trips of a life-time even better, or they can make you wish you never left your home-waters.  This relationship must be nurtured and protected (I’ve read that other relationships require that too but didn’t really care.)  There is a lot to consider when looking for a compatible partner.

You need to find someone who fishes the way you fish.  Inter-tackle pairings are generally frowned upon, and with good reason.  I try to be open-minded but when you see a nice fly fisherman fishing with a spin fisherman, I do get a bit queasy.  I mean does that spin fisherman really care, or just using that poor man as a trophy.  I’m sure with work and communication such pairings can work out, but there are many hurtles, and generally they end in heart-break.

Also, there is the question of vessel.  Some guys prefer to fish from boats, others like to wade, still others like conveyance like pontoons or kayaks that are easy to switch up during the course of a trip.  Some guys are active, others passive.  A guy that likes to slowly work the structure will not enjoy a trip with a guy who likes to cast and blast.

Finally, and perhaps mostly importantly, are the questions of compatibility raised when one fishing buddy tries to introduce his fishing buddy to his other fishing buddies.  This can be disastrous, especially if the meeting takes place moments after being dropped off by a sea-plane or something.  To facilitate this I have done extensive anthropological research to determine the roles that social animals will fall into during fishing trips.

The Leader:  No big surprise the leader is the guy who gets and keeps the group moving.  The leader will generally determine where to fish, what to eat, and which bars to stop at.

The Captain: The Captain is primarily concerned with logistics and the how of getting stuff done.  Leaders determine WHAT to do, Captains make it happen.  Maps, ATM machines, directions, common equipment, food – that sort of stuff.  In a perfect world the Captain and the Leader would be the same guy…in reality they will likely hate each other.

The Comic Relief: When the Captain and the Leader are about to come to blows this guy will distract them.  Generally speaking the comic relief isn’t very funny, I mean it’s a fishing trip not amateur night at the Apollo (they aren’t funny either.)  The comic relief never packs enough socks.

The MacGyver Want-to-be: Broke a rod tip? Ripped your pants?  Charmed the panties off the gap-toothed waitress at the Denny’s and need some protection?  This is the man to see.  He has the tools, the tape, the glue, and all the crap you couldn’t be bothered to remember.  His fly patterns are complex and involved and as a general rule of thumb never work.

The Gourmand: This is the one guy that actually knows how to cook.  Unfortunately, he always likes to hear himself talk, and will go on and on about the difference between the various types of potato.  If you don’t pretend to care he’ll get hurt.  The gourmand never makes stuff you really want to eat like burgers or burgers or Beef-a-roni – he’ll make stuff with weird names and accent marks. He’ll correct you when you mispronounce these names.  Every-time you eat anything he makes just say it was the best ever.  You can thank him for your case of explosive diarrhea.

Fish Counter: There will always be a guy who needs to know exactly how many fish everyone caught.  Usually this guy is very competitive, but not in life just fishing.  At home he is either a middle manager or some type of clerk who gives out blue pens when the workers need black ones.  No matter what you tell him, he wont believe you, but to his credit he likely packed extra socks and underwear. Feel free to rob him.

The Warrior: This guy likes to fight.  He comes in handy if you are fishing a jetty or something and a bunch of knuckle dragging bait fishermen try to crowd you.  Some warriors are very physical – others rely on vocabulary and lack of mental filters.  Keep in mind that people who like to fight tend to not be very good at it.

The Pussy: Some people may refer to him as the “Voice of Reason” or something retarded like that.  If some jerkoff cuts you off and you want to kill him, odds are the Pussy will be the guy in the boat bitching about laws or morals or some other crap.  When the lightning starts to flash (GAWD OF THUNDAAAAR!!!!) and there are small craft warnings, this pansy will be all complaining about wanting to survive.  He may live to be 100 – but he’ll never be the Ambassador of Awesomeness.   Sooner or later this guy ends up keel-hauled.

The Guy Who Always Has to Take a Shit: I really shouldn’t have to explain this one. Every fishing trip when you make a pit stop or are about to head out you can never find this guy.  Where the hell is he? Where do you think?  It’s amazing his parents didn’t leave him at the mall when he was younger.

The Overly Sensitive Guy Who Feels the Need to Share Too Much at the Campfire: Don’t confuse this feeb with the Pussy – he is much worse and gives everyone the “Ghey feeling.”  Hopefully during his menstrual cycle a bear will come and eat him.

You know I had a point but it escapes me at the moment.

Oh yeah I remember – I have exactly two fishing buddies that I really enjoy fishing with.  Dave and Mark…regrettably they are very similar and thus should never be brought on the same trip.  They are both Leader/Captains, and now that I think of it I can only think of two meaningful differences between the two of them.  One is taller than me, one is shorter.  One is married to a woman who is supportive of his fishing because she dotes on him and feels it is good for his health to have some stress relief; the other enjoys the fact that her husband paddles into the Atlantic in the wee hours of the morning because she hold his life insurance policy.  Judge if you must – but both these guys ultimately have Carte Blanche to go fishing pretty much at will, do you?

When we fish, sure we catch stuff and learn stuff, but ultimately we are making memories, and the most important people in our lives are the one with which we share these memories.  I fish a lot by myself, and the days and tides kind of run together in my mind.  However, the jokes, excitements, and moments shared with my buddies stand apart – as some of the most treasured moments in my life.