Tahoe Pine Nuts: Fly fishermen are noblemen of the world
Last weekend I was invited to speak to a bunch of fly fishermen at the Chesterton Club in Redondo Beach. I’m not a fly fisherman, but as the Ghost of Mark Twain, I’m able to talk about fly-fishing at length.
Upon arriving at LAX, I witnessed countless numbers of anxious individuals rushing here and there to gate changes, compliments of El Nino.
One petit lady, draped in Coco Chanel, shouted to no one in particular, but loud enough for the entire terminal to hear, “Son of a @#$%!” It was so much a non sequitur that I had to cover my mouth and laugh audibly.
I also witnessed a young lady wearing a T-shirt that read in bold letters, “IF YOU AIN’T AN ANGELENO YOU AIN’T @#$%!” That too made me laugh, even though I realized I was not worthy.
I climbed into a cab and from the back seat I saw fair warning from a welcoming road sign above a three lane freeway in Los Angeles. Above the right hand lane was a green circle, above the middle lane was a blue square, and above the left lane was a black diamond.
Of course my driver raised his eyebrows, assumed a Steve McQueen look that told me this could be my day for martyrdom, and off we flew into the left lane, designated exclusively, so far as I could tell, to drivers with a death wish.
Somehow, though I could not tell you how, as my eyes were shut, we made it to Redondo, where I took a run on the beach.
Oh nirvana-blissful egolessness, being so used to running at Tahoe I felt like I had three lungs and I wanted to run forever, but I had to go to work, if one can call it that. Something you love to do should never be called work.
The fly fishermen were everything I expected them to be, cordial but manly, jovial but refined, and downright fly fisherman friendly.
I’m not one to generalize, but show me a fly fisherman and I’ll show you a gentleman. I don’t know if it’s the river, the fish, the company, the sport, or the heavens above, but the recipe seems to attract and produce noblemen of the blood royal.
On my way back home our friend El Nino and his Pineapple Express, closed the Reno airport, so I took a room at the motel closest to the Las Vegas airport, located at the end of one of the runways, so close to the runway that they issued me earplugs when I checked in.
They also recommended movies that I could consider watching, as I would not be getting any sleep. It was comforting to hear from the desk clerk that rabbits born there on the motel property are all born deaf.
Some people just have a way of putting your mind at ease in the face of adversity, and as Mark Twain told us, “It’s the little things that smooths people’s roads out the most.”
I did eventually get to sleep for 15 minutes, and had a brilliant Technicolor dream about fly-fishing.
Learn more about McAvoy Layne at http://www.ghostoftwain.com.
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