Get Fluffing

The Goshen County Two Shot Goose Hunt, the Platte River Two Fly, the Governor’s Invitational Antelope Stalk—I don’t know how you feel about outdoor competitions, but I try to avoid them at all costs. The Cape Cod Fall Classic, the Jackson Hole One Fly and the Old Milwaukee B.A.S.S. Nation Championship—I place fishing contests right in there with cow tipping and catfish noodling. The “Rodfather,” on the other hand, loves these events. He swims around the gratis tables scooping up stickers and key rings that double as bottle openers; he surveys the silent auction with 40 bucks burning a hole; he spins the wheel of chance to win a duck call. He’s gregarious—glowing even—as he brushes past the state attorney general on his way for a refill at the sputtering keg of overly hopped craft beer. 

But, I don’t know. 

These kinds of gatherings feel like golf tournaments without women. Big bucks are involved. There’s bragging and annoying side betting. Reputations are at stake. There’s too much nitpicking, too much bluster. Outdoor contests, you must admit, are counterintuitive to a quiet sport. These events begin in the spirit of a good cause, but eventually they morph into grotesque versions of themselves, complete with scandals, cuckoldry and cheating. One only needs to look at what has become of bass and walleye fishing, now that money has discovered them. Men ply the water in jacked-up watercraft that bring to mind NASCAR. They go so fast their lips curl back from their faces. I’m afraid this will happen to flyfishing... 

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