The creeping darkness of the off-season
It always begins with that one, very vivid fantasy.
You know, they start at about this time of year and become more and more lucid with each passing day. By March, I won't be able to tell fantasy from reality.
It's a function of not having done any good fishing for over two months now. Sometimes the visions have fish in them. Sometimes they are simply about the places where I have fished.
Other times, the theme is mixed up indiscriminately, and my mind intermingles several images that may or may not have anything to do with each other. (Take a goooood look at the picture)
A minor ankle fracture that is putting a cramp in even the day to day stuff and is certainly keeping me from the outdoors, coupled with a distinct lack of time on the water is ample fodder for someone like me to get too deep inside of my own thoughts.
Compound my lack of fresh air with the visions, and WALA!
MacLoosh done popped his cork.
These are the times where I start to get into trouble...
I've started to have thoughts about tying a size 22 fly. It would be some sort of tiny little midge pupa that would be an attractive morsel for the fish in my aquarium. None of which are all that big, but they eat like they are great white sharks and would probably put up a decent fight for their size. They are also, well...tropicals. You know, a few tetras, a catfish, and a monster algae eater, the usual pet store mix.
I'm not even sure it's legal, and if it is...is there is any kind of legal size limit?
Ye gads, this also smacks of a full on PETA protest if it leaks to the press. (Please note the author's extreme difficulty in refraining from making fun of the PETA folks) Although it would be kind of interesting to see this quiet little suburb wrap thier minds around protesters dressed up like a clownfish and flopping in the middle of the street...
Truthfully, it isn't the PETA contingent that worries me. It would be explaining to the MacLooshkins why daddy was fishing in the fish tank.
I *might* be able to sell it to the 8 year old, but the 5 year old? Um...yeah...I'm not confident that even I can summon up the needed chutzpah to pull that one off.
So I am left to walk the streets, dazed, confused and not really sure how to handle the things that are happening in my mind. I am also not quite ready to let the public at large know that my last bit of sanity has just taken the express train to Crazyville.
They'll figure it out soon enough...as soon as I start making regular trips to the aquarium store later this winter.