GLASS ACT

We don’t have cable TV at our house. We just roll ol’ school in the media department and use a pair of rabbit ears (plus converter box) to pick up the stations that are out there for free.

I’m not anti-cable or anything like that. I’m just … frugal.

A lot of people tell me that they couldn’t imagine life without cable/satellite or not being able to watch such and such show every week – I gotta say, in all humility, it hasn’t been an issue.

Now, having said that, when my wife and I travel we definitely take advantage of the in-room cable and the enormous flat screens with surround sound and we thoroughly enjoy episodes of shows we don’t otherwise catch.

We’ll often end up staying awake far, far too late watching some of the crazier “reality shows” that are out there like the one about the dog trainer or the one about the guy who intentionally signs on to do some dirty job or the one about people finding new homes in other countries or the one about people finding valuable treasures amid junk.

That last one, the one about finding hidden treasures, that one really intrigues me. We’ve been to enough homes around the county to know that one man’s junk is truly another man’s treasure.

We have seen some pretty amazing stuff.

I’m not one to judge, so there is no criticism here, I’m just sayin’ that there is no end to what people will collect, display, hoard or accumulate whether by design or default.

So the other day, we were out seeing a client – actually his pet potbelly pig — and I was just sort of chatting with him (the client, not the pig) as we concluded business and, somehow, the topic of fishing came up. Well, one thread of conversation led to another and before long I mentioned that I do a lot of flyfishing. He told me he never really tried flyfishing but he thought it looked interesting. Then he told me to hold on a second and disappeared into an outbuilding that he said was once a smokehouse/meat locker/butchering shed but hadn’t been used as such since 1971.

When he re-remerged he was holding two brick-colored cardboard tubes with the Fenwick label on one end. He said that they belonged to his grandfather and they ought to go to someone who could truly appreciate them ‘cause all they were doing at his house was collecting dust. Despite my objections, he pressed them into my hands and made me promise to actually use them… like that’s gonna be a problem.

When we finally finished our appointments for the day (one of the longest days on record, by the way) and our mobile veterinary hospital was safely docked and carefully cleaned and I was officially off the clock, I carefully unpacked them – a total Indiana Jones moment for me if there ever was one. Both rods were in near new condition down to the original prices tags ($24.95). After pulling the info off the butt section of each one, I hit the Internet (just a little ironic). It only took a while but eventually I was pretty confident that what I had in my possession were two pre-1960 eight-and- a-half foot, 7-wt or 8-wt fiberglass fly rods.

Further research showed that the guys who use fiberglass rods really love ‘em. I sort of got the impression that they are like the guys who still drive 1964 Chevy Impalas or the guys who still listen to oldies on AM radio…or like the guys who still use rabbit ears to watch TV.

So, after reading all the glowing reports … I naturally, went fishing.

And…it was pretty darn amazing… like driving a ’64 Impala…listenin’ to oldies on AM…adjusting the rabbit ears to get the best picture…

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