“Every time I hear your voice, my ovaries quiver.” Here I was, in my mid-40s and I didn’t even know ovaries quivered! Another time, I asked a sweet little old lady how she was doing. Her answer was, “I’ve had some rectal bleeding lately.” You can’t make this stuff up.
So, on a beautiful Spring day, I brought out a handful of fly rods and reels and a box of various flies with their hooks cut off and we assembled along a small stream at the center. The streamside was littered with various trees, bushes and young people doing what young people do.
I could tell right off the bat that this wasn’t going to go as planned. It started when Sterling (named changed to ward off lawsuits) walked up to the young people and declared they were trespassing on his territory. When they laughed at him, Sterling promptly unzipped and marked his territory. The kids left and Sterling was happy. Luckily, the officer that showed up a short while later understood.
I explained to the group the mechanics of fly casting, including a special session for the lady with quivering ovaries that my fly wasn’t part of the demonstration. I spent the next few hours pulling flies out of trees, the back of gray heads and broke up one fight between two brothers in their 80s who obviously still harbored bad feelings due to some sibling rivalry.
All the seniors got a turn and all showed various skill levels. The prize for the best technique went to 70 year old Otto who was found behind the bushes with his girlfriend Goldie.
I wonder if John Gierach started this way?