Am I wrong to reject a story on flies tied with pubic hair?
Admittedly, we have ‘form’ in this office. I’m told Trout Fisherman‘s editor was sent such a fly in the post on his first day in the job and, in one of those coin-flip decisions that haunt you for ever, opted to pick up the fly before he picked up the covering letter.
So vividly does he reproduce the howl of revulsion with which he threw the offending object across his desk, once the letter informed him of the ‘dressing’ (a novel twist on ‘readers’ wives’, shall we say) the episode is clearly seared into his memory.
So thanks, dear reader, but no thanks. Your tale of how a colleague’s pubes came to adorn your vice must remain a matter for you and her alone. I don’t care about the pheromone angle and the lid on the great can of worms called ‘Imitative?’ can in this instance remain firmly closed.
We all find our own level in the taxing world of investigative journalism. Mine is probably represented by the family from Ireland’s Co. Donegal in Georgian times, who discovered that donkey urine degreased local fur and feathers and fixed dyes in such a way as to bring a vivid hue to previously sombre salmon flies.
That story, at a pinch, I could handle. The fact that it was animal and not human urine lends a sufficient degree of detachment to the tale to keep me more interested than revolted.
Pubic hair flies, however…
I just have this mental image that refuses to die, of anglers in a bar at the end of the day, all furiously rummaging around in their pants while proudly declaring, “This stuff, on the other hand, never fails…”
[Pic courtesy of Rafa Puyana]