Fishing Bug

I like nature. I really do. Nature doesn’t like me. Okay just the bugs. I think God knows about this and whenever he or she and his angels need a laugh they just dial up f bombs and tantrums. Apparently, my channel in heaven.

 Fishing in near north Ontario.

 I don't know why they call it the near north. It’s like north had a meeting and decided you can’t call yourself north, we will give you near north, because you are just up to it. Near is all we have left. Take it or leave it. Somewhere on a lake in the Canadian shields in the near north, is a man on a boat wondering about such things. Is there a near south? What happened to near center. F it, near north. We the north. We from Toronto. We the center. WE don't know!

The Near North Buzz.

The near north have black flies. Hey, I didn’t name them. They should have been called them ass flies, because they are a pain the ass and have no problem taking a chunk out of your ass. Oh, and their dear cousin, the deer fly, not so dear. The common Deer fly have only one mission. To piss you off. To fly in circles around your head singing a high pitched na, na, na, na, na, na, until, like the lunatic, you start swinging frantically yelling f off or bite me already.

One day I was fishing with my brother. I had a brand-new Shakespeare 010 sigma reel and an ugly stick rod combo. I covered myself in musk-oil and I was standing at the edge of a boat dock, ready to catch whatever fish liked the smell of musk-oil infused lures. It was a beautiful day. The sun was shinning. The birds were singing. That's when it happened.  Deer fly at one o'clock. It came in hot, smelt the musk-oil and laughed. He he. It started circling my head. It was operation, piss Dennis off. Buzzing around playing that annoying game your brother plays with you. I'm not touching you. I yell back I'm not just going to touch you, I'm going to kill you! I tried to swat it Zorro style with my fishing rod. No dice. Tennis style with my hat. Whiff. Then I thought just spit at it. Well I spit at it. Missed the fly and hit my brother right between the eyes. The water was cold that day. The spit to response reflex was unexpected but deserved. The thrust of his two hands to the chest knocked me off balance just enough to send me off the dock. Oddly enough, in that moment I planned for the submergence. I Landed feet first while raising my fishing rod above my head. It was the only thing not wet when I emerged from the lake. My day was done.  But it had just started for my little winged friends. I walked back to the trailer with even more friends black and deer flies. They were having a party. Circling my head, biting my ass. Hey, look its Dennis. Want to have fun? Who’s the wet stinky guy? na na na na na na.....

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Denny D