TRAVEL: Fly fishing for trout in England. As an aside (I’m referring to just one sentence in the article), it’s funny how the myth that fly fishing is for the aristocracy is perpetuated. And I’ve certainly met people on streams eager to perpetuate that myth–I’m thinking of my local trout stream, specifically of the guy blasting Wagner from his car, talking in an affected accent while assembling the expensive custom rod he’d purchased in Scotland. He’d bought into the whole “gentlemen fly fisher” thing to the point of caricature. I swear at one point he called me “old boy,” or maybe it was “old chap.” He was pleasant enough, but a little suspicious of me because I don’t wear a vest (I try to keep everything minimal, and cram it into a small shoulder pack). Or maybe it was because I was standing around in my long underwear before I put on my waders. Either way, on the walk to the stream he engaged me in this long discourse on fishing English chalk streams and “real” fly fishing. He seemed especially pleased with himself. I’m not one to keep score on the water, but I took great satisfaction in catching several fish before he’d hooked one, and looking over to see his brow furrow as my fish slapped back into the stream. He walked down the bank and asked me what my secret was. I pulled out my flybox and gave him a simple black wooly bugger. On the walk back to the cars, I got to hold court, and tell him how one of my favorite things to do in fly fishing is pull peacock bass from a Florida irrigation ditch.

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