Heeeeere fishy fishy

I can see myself fly fishing. Standing in a pristine mountain stream with golden late afternoon sunlight streaming behind me as, with the skill and patience of a Zen master, I carve a graceful arc with my line before reeling in a trout of epic proportions. I release the fish, return it to the water and admire the way the light plays off its silvery scales as it swims away. Think Brad Pitt in "A River Runs Through It" and you'll have the general idea.

Still, I barely have time for the hobbies I have now and fly-fishing isn't all that cheap a sport in which to get started. Until fairly recently I wasn't aware that I had any special interest in taking up fishing at all but after giving the sport a go for the first time in years during a camping trip in the summer (where I was the only one in the group to catch a fish - a monster of at least 4 inches) the desire was formed.

I also hadn't realized how comparatively inexpensive simple spinning rods are. Sure there are the pricey ones for people who take the sport seriously, but ambling round a hardware store one day, I came across some on sale starting at around $20 - $30. That's well within my price range but first I consulted my friend Ed. Ed's been kicking around a lot longer than me (well, 7 years longer) and knows about these things.

"So is a $30 fishing rod OK to buy, or is it just a waste of $30?" I asked. Having received confirmation that the rod on which I'd caught my record breaker back in the summer probably only cost about that much, the decision was made. I was to become an angler.

Of course time passed, real life got in the way and if it hadn't have been for another friend, Melissa, I probably wouldn't have done anything about it.

"OK, I'm picking you up from work on Friday," she told me authoritively last week. "We'll go to Sportsman's Warehouse" (a kind of retail toy box for enthusiasts of outdoor pursuits) and pick out a fishing rod for you." Of course, it wasn't just going to be just me and her. Christmas is coming and too many other people wanted an excuse to visit the place so the simple act of choosing a gift for me, turned into a team event. Ed was there, of course, along with Robin and Karen so the five of us descended on the place like locusts with charge cards.

Once inside, the womenfolk spread out and headed for their respective interests. Robin took off for the shoes, Karen for the hats and Melissa for the jeans while Ed and I manned the shopping trolley and gave helpful advice. While waiting Ed, found a camouflage bathrobe, which he thought, would be ideal for hiding among the potted plants, while I came across a pair of shoulder length camouflage gloves. To avoid being spotted during formal evening functions I suppose.

Soon it was time to hit the fishing section and having rejected my first choice, a 3 ft "My Little Pony" type number in a shade of pink which would match my eyes some mornings, we moved onto my next selection. It was a cool looking silver thing but Ed decided it wasn't flexible enough. Apparently flexible is a good thing when it comes to fishing rods so he moved along the row and picked out another for me. This one was black and the tip zipped up and down like a whip when I swung it. OK, decision made, but of course - that was just the beginning.

I needed line, hooks, bobbers, sinkers, scissors, a tackle box and of course, the all important bait. You would think it would simply be a case of walking along the shelves and grabbing the stuff but instead the process involved a level of discussion which would have made a Bedouin camel trader weep. Melissa learned her fishing in West Virginia where the fish are very different animals to our Colorado natives. Ed's the local expert while I was utterly clueless so we went back and forth over the merits of # 8 hooks versus # 10s, bobbers or not, light line or heavy, the debate went on.

Ed's an aficionado of the fishing vest, while Melissa's a tackle box devotee. Being blessed with skinny, weedy looking arms I knew that a bulky vest wouldn't be much of a fashion statement on me as you probably know, anglers are a stylish bunch so I decided on the tackle box.

"You'll want one with a shoulder strap," explained Melissa, "because you'll have your rod and stuff in one hand, your beer cooler in the other and you won't want to be messing with a tackle box in your third." Sound advice that, so we picked out a green one and moved on.

Selecting my first supply of bait was another big decision. Back in the days when I last fished, you either purchased a small bag of some unidentified marine life from a crusty old guy in a kiosk at the head of the pier, or you went into the back yard and dug up worms. I haven't seen a worm in Colorado and I doubt they would keep 'till the warm weather so instead we checked out the endless supply of commercial offerings. It would never have occurred to me that fish would go after some of these fluorescent concoctions but it seems those are the "in" colors. Bright red salmon eggs, neon orange Power Bait, glitter balls called "Drag Queen Bait", which tickled Melissa no end - it was all here. Even little jars of multi-colored paste which you use, presumably, to roll your own. It's all very hi-tech these days.

Finally we were done and I headed for the checkout to hand over a sum of cash considerably higher than the $20-$30 I had originally anticipated. Still, Christmas only comes once a year. I'll need Melissa and Ed to show me how to work most of this stuff but I did spend a happy hour on Saturday unwrapping it all and placing it neatly in my new tackle box. I also picked up my first fishing injury, drawing blood when the snap of the box ripped open my index finger. How manly is that?

Still, I'm all set to go now. The gear is primed, I'm ready for the hunt and fish had best beware. Everything is in place.

So how long is it 'till Spring?