I’m always looking for things to make me look smart. So I started pondering today whether I wanted to share my secrets with others. Of course, since blogging is the very definition of charity, (or is it really just inflicting myself on others?) I decided to go ahead and share a few things that make me look like I actually know what I’m doing. This way, others who are seeking to enhance perceptions of their skill in the field can benefit as I build my ego.
#1—bead-head nymphs. I must admit that unlike some of the chroniclers of river lore listed on my blogroll, I am a dunce when it comes to flyfishing. Alighting the dainty dry fly on the surface is not my forte. But I look OK when I have a bead-head nymph on, with its extra weight to cheat my line out a little bit. And they catch fish. Can’t beat that.
#2—sharp knives. As someone who has been around a few custom knifemakers and even tried my hand at that craft (no, it wasn’t successful—a story for another day), I must say that 90% of the cutlery market is junk. But a good, well-sharpened blade makes me look like a master when others are sawing and jerking and hacking their way through fish or wild game. If you don’t have a lot of money, buy a Kershaw Blade Trader. Nice, thin easy-cutting blade that is easy to resharpen. For a fillet knife, spend some money and buy one from Don Canney. I’ve been through most of the production ones and his are superior, semi-custom affairs.
#3—high lift jack. So many uses in the great outdoors. I have used mine for everything from lifting my boat trailer to change a tire to jacking up the sagging concrete steps on my house. They will winch in a pinch, too!
#4—I’ll leave my favorite for last—a capable wife. Even when I’m not looking so smart, she can create a diversion. And sometimes save me from myself. This brings me to a story. Gather round, now, it’s Uncle Wade’s Sunday Story Time. Ahhh hem.
A fine summer afternoon on Lake Winnibigoshish this past summer, the lady and I were trolling for walleye with crankbaits. Lazy fishing, I know, but I’ll make excuses and say my arms were tired from casting for muskies all morning. The perch were a-peckin’, and I was beginning the process of taking one of those pesky little piscatorial peckers off of a treble hook on my Rapala, when doltishness set in. Rather than giving myself some slack in the line, I pulled the fish and crankbait down toward myself, bending the tip of the rod down with them. In the second it takes a half-wit like me to lose the slippery fish, I found a treble hook buried in the meat of my hand. The fish had slipped from my hand, the rod had quickly unbent itself (that’s what you call a “fast tip!”), and I was beginning to sweat profusely and utter unmentionables. The worst part was that not only was I hooked, but the perch was still on the crankbait, wildly wiggling and digging the hook deeper and deeper! My quick-thinking wife, at my urging, grabbed the pliers, since I begged her to help me. And without batting an eye, she ripped the hook from my hand and saved any nearby boats from a further litany of blue smoke (not the kind that comes from the outboard motor).
She’s good. And I’m lucky. And most days, I’d rather be the lucky one than the good one.
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