Romancing the Striped Bass!

[mhill]

A short, MANLY, paperback romance)

In the long-forgotten past, replete with heroes, soothsayers, and highbrow simpletons, in the now forgotten kingdom of the Flyrod, there emerged a sassy creature, mean of soul and cold of feature, yet mesmerizing with its alluring, well-formed silky sleekness. This creature, sired in the abyssal sea, the womb of its creation, lures those prone to infatuation along with the adventurous to unknown depths of self-indulgence with the promise of forbidden fruits. The Striped Bass flaunt their salacious power over human males, ensnaring these tawdry humans by making them think they have been gifted with supernatural powers or by seductively enticing their mortal fanciers to pursue them to the far ends of their watery boudoir.

Supernatural passions spring from the fusion of two biologically different entities, opposites that embrace and yet explain practically nothing. These creatures impress themselves on the general consciousness of the weak-willed. These primordial images, sediments of accumulated memory, grab at the love-starved heartstrings, and seemingly have a wantonly seductive life of their own. The Striped Bass manifests itself in shameless dreams reminiscent of Homer’s tales of the lovesick Sirens of the Salt. They typically embody rebellion, rage and an untamed nature

How does the sordid story begin?

First you take a man, and then you put a fly rod in his hand, and tell him to go fish. First he dry casts on the lawn spilling his line onto the grass until utter frustration sets in. He has to catch, he has to conquer something. He saunters on over to the local fly shop where he’s heard that fellow fly fishermen gather to exchange lies and information. During one of the confabs, he notices this one guy sitting quietly. He notes the strange far-off longing stare out the window and the constant sighs emanating from the pouting mouth. He starts up a conversation, and, after much cajoling finds out the guy just came back from a very successful fishing trip to the nor ‘east. Curious as to what he caught, he asks. Immediately this look, of pure unbounded joy, appears on the fisherman’s face. Letting out a soft moan, he utters, with carnal undertones, two words – Striped Bass. That is all it took. One taste and the guy was hopelessly addicted even before he wet a line. He did not know it at the time, but, insidiously his life was changed forever. The pain of desire was so sharp that it made him utter several moans; and so excessive was the sweetness caused by this intense pain that he had to live it out. He packed up his equipment and ventured forth to the red light district of the fathomless depths of the ocean blue.

Arriving late in the afternoon, the entire location (before him, and off either hand) was a sea of leaping flames! The waning afternoon sun, burning its way through the discarded modesty of the salt spray – foreshadows the unbridled rapture that is to come. He kneels spellbound at the throne of the goddess, hands thrusting high to the sky, grasping for satisfaction.

Gaining his senses, he notes that this is a fine day. He thinks “it is all about the hunt,” not knowing the error of this reflection. Later he will taste the consequence. With polarized glasses he watches wave after wave peak and upon these waves he sees the Striped Bass ripping through the water. He watches primal nature unfold. Baitfish get caught in the surf and crash against the rocks. Birds dive bomb into the water taking advantage of the disorientated and helpless baitfish. The predatory stripers scan the shorelines like sharks and attack the baitfish with unrelenting aggression. The predatory switch is flipped in their brains and they come racing to the surface with the intent of uncontrolled gorging. At that exact moment, a Striped Bass propels its entire taut body out of the water in pursuit of prey; it is a titillating sight that he won’t soon forget. With quivering desirous hands, he jams the two parts of his rod together and with trembling fingers threads the line through the guides and ties on a fly. Now united into one powerful tool, his hands feel the rod come to life, restrained only by knowledge that it’s turn for satisfaction is quickly approaching.

Usually mild-mannered, today he is intensely pursuing prey. The rocks at his feet are covered with barnacles and seaweed. On both sides of these rocks there is surf – white foamy surf. This is striped bass heaven! Remembering the advice reluctantly given to him, “Fish any and all white water -- it's NEVER too rough for stripers,” he notices water which was shallow enough where he could see the bass chasing bait. Then without warning, the surface of the ocean becomes alive with slapping tails. All around the rocks the water is boiling with bait and stripers! Breathlessly and excitedly he launches a mighty cast. Through the crystal clear water he sees the bass take notice. Out of the depths he hears a siren singing. Bang, he feels a tug at the end of the line – a tugging at his heart. Fish on! Oh what rapturous words of joy he thinks. Thus the battle rages, the fish answering each stroke of the rod with ever-strengthening runs for freedom, until it seems that our hero’s strength will fail. With lightning-like convolutions the monster strives to wrest the rod from the hand of her antagonist until with a violent exertion of her fins, she soars into the air. Writhing as in ecstasy, she hovers for a moment, then falls crashing back into the depths. Now knowing that there is no escape, she surrenders to the power of her pursuer – timidly and coyly letting him pull her to her rapture. Intoxicated with fervor, he stares down at her, flirtatiously twitching – gasping for breath in the rarified air of the moment.

Completely enraptured, he tenderly reaches down, touches and enjoys the cool skin, until tenderly he slips the fly from her glistening lips. Breathlessly, he tenderly releases her back into her domain. The sea was calmed, and a snow-white heron soared upward to the sun. Somehow unfulfilled, he senses something wrong; he senses that he has lost something very powerful. Again the siren’s song rings in his ears and his former madness falls over him. A teardrop hangs for a moment in his eye, he listens to the singing with a sad heart.