The Back Page

by Mad Mike Benson

It ain’t supposed to be easy. You’re supposed to suffer, bleed, cry, wallow in self-pity, and doubt your very existence. What good is a bonefish unless you’ve flown to the deepest depths of the Caribbean, and slept on a Bahamian couch with a knife across your chest because the front door wont lock? Is a musky even worth the effort unless you drive across three states, lob whole roosters on 11wt's in torrential rain, miss a strike and watch your buddy catch your fish right from under your nose before you flee for your life when the river runs its banks and starts threatening to flood your riverside abode? Tarpon are just overgrown sardines unless you sleep in a hammock on a glorified dock 50 miles from the nearest civilization and act as the local blood bank for everglades mosquitos. Life is pain, fishing should reflect that. I mean I guess bluegill are cool, and sometimes you do get to sleep in air conditioning and ride in nice boats to catch a fish in salt water. Lodges are a nice treat as well if we’re being honest and having a hot meal and cold beer waiting on the dock after a long, pleasant day on the water with willing fish is hard to beat. Fly fishing is supposed to test us, challenge us, push us to our limits. But sometimes that redfish tails at 20 feet and you can just flip a short cast to get the eat. I guess it ain’t supposed to be easy... but it’s damn sure nice when it is.