“For barbeau my dear Fleche, this fly here is the very best.” affirmed my friend Pascal, opening his hand to display the marvel of marvels, the nymph that will save me from any number of wash-outs.
It’s true, his darling nymph was absolutely gorgeous. Just as beautiful as an italian actress, with bronzed legs (of pheasant feathers) and pearly white boobs (of antron fiber). Impossible not to think of the incomparable Sylvia Koscina, star of the celebrated gladiator films that enchanted my adolescent nights, the lovely Sylvia of “Hercules” with her little head, all golden… OK, I’m beginning to digress. Where were we? Oh, yes! Pascal’s nymph. Before I had a chance to mount my fly rod, Pascal had already hooked a good sized barbeau; without skipping a beat he hooked another, then a third one.
“Fleche, watch me… on one line, two fish on two hooks. (Talk about hooker, Sylvia…).
Taking pity on me, Pascal gave me a gift of his favorite nymph (Pascal is like that!) and there I was like a heron… I have to tell you that his nymphs are truly miraculous. I had just cast my line when… HOLY SHIT! Some dumb canoe crashes into me and throws me off balance… along with my fish. You might expect that the gum-chewing cretin would excuse himself? No way Jose! The only thing the jerk with sunglasses bleated out was: “Hey you, you’d better watch out with your line!”
At that moment, I was truly sorry to have forgotten my flame-thrower in the garage. I could have given him a carbonized face-lift. And the broad in the back of the canoe (ugly as sin), the bitch just laughed stupidly. Without hesitating, while whistling a Neapolitan tune, I could have drowned her like sick kitten.
In spite of the bruises on my thigh I continued fishing and the moment that I saw my line stop, a sure sign that a fish found my nymph to his liking, another canoe passed in front to me and I blew setting the hook. This time however, sitting in the boat was a young lady more beautiful and tanned than a butter croissant… (happily I was in the water up to my waist which concealed my emotion).
Not more than a half hour later, a magnificent carp drove me crazy (see my pride in the photo). I trailed behind her in the river bed for at least 3 days (OK, maybe I exaggerate a little, let’s say 20 minutes)!
It turns out, however, that it wasn’t with Pascal’s nymphs that I got the magnificent fish. And because it’s you, dear loyal readers of le Mouching, I’ll let you in on the secret.
MY CARP FLY
Get yourself a strong hook. The body of this nymph is nothing more than an imitation of bread: confected with flour, water, yeast and a pinch of salt and set in the oven for a half hour. And if it doesn’t work, well, you can always put a slice of ham and a pickle between two flies and and have lunch on the fly.