Like the day before, the damned wind started up about 9 in the morning, forcing us to make a u-turn and quickly returned to the port at full steam in order to avoid capsizing in the bay of Toulon (Var.).

After solidly battening down the hatches of our valiant skiff it went without saying that we would toss one back at the “Bar Mitzva” , a charming bar protected from the wind and tended by the zaftig and generous Agathe.

“I’ll have a vermouth and my friend… une mauresque (a drink of pastis and almond syrup)”,  I said to the beautiful Suzon, the young waitress who, in spite of her sixteen spring times, gratified us with a smile that conveyed a lot in the area of high end flirting.

The conversation started up on the never ending subject that I call: “the multiple shadows and joys of deep sea fly-fishing”.

“Everyone of the flies that are showcased by the fly fishing magazines  should “de regueur” of interest to the slightly stupid fish, but they lack one essential element: they lack odor. Even very young children know perfectly well that fish are very sensitive when it comes to the “nose”, in this species it is rarely visible as it is in other prey like the african elephant or the anteater in faraway islands, but he is not any less sensitive.”

“Also, recently I tried an experiment that, far from being perfect, risks, with a few adjustments, being very fruitful. Briefly here’s the idea, because we generally fish the waters of our splendid provencal coast, the idea came to me to soak the flies in a solution of liquid anise. To be truthful, a Marseille pastis.. How could fish of the region refuse such an offer? It wouldn’t make sense and I look forward to hitting a “Home Run” on our next outing on the sea.”

Then my friend Gilbert S. put in his two cents: “My dear Fleche, your idea is pure genius without a doubt, but mine is, excuse me in advance, even better.” Very quickly here it is: have you ever seen an Aioli (seafood meal served with a garlicky mayonnaise) without fish? The reply is evident: NEVER! The odor of garlic attracts the fish like a magnet attracts steel, and that’s a fact. So, instead of soaking your flies in Pernod (“le Pernod Sons, loses our sons” as said quite correctly, the late Alphonse Allais) so let us macerate our flies in garlic juice and the results will be, without a doubt, superior.

At that moment an unknown person at the neighboring table offered: “Sirs, I couldn’t help overhearing your conversation and if you permit I would like to add to your theories a bit of my modest experience.”

“But dear sir,” I replied, “please, be our guest. Anything that can advance the science of the art of fly-fishing is of great interest to us”.

The stranger dragged his chair to our table and ordered a Gin Fizz, (proof of his good taste!) and he started: “It is perfectly exact that odor is a capital point in tracking down our friends, the fish, and there I recently had an experience that I would love to share with you.”

“As I am obliged for business reasons to travel a great deal (and after all we are weak creatures), I am not what one might call rigorously faithful to Hortense, my charming wife; from time to time I don’t spit on the idea of  having a good time with young ladies, regardless of their politics. In particular there is one, Lisette M. who is ravishing. Her dimples, her big doe eyes, her fine chin and her curly hair drive me crazy. Add to that, that the doll is devilishly adventurous in our lovemaking, well, it’s easy to understand that I am what is called a satisfied man.”

“I was in her bedroom one day and while Lisette was taking a shower I discovered a willow hamper containing a collection of her underwear (of doubtful cleanliness) surely ready to sent to the laundry near by.”

“Well, my friends, the odor that came from that hamper was of a robust power, so sweltering, that an idea which I have to qualify as pure genius,  germinated in my creative spirit. Being, like you, an eternal fisherman, I put all my fly-tying material in the said hamper and let it macerate like that for a few days: afterwards, I nervously set myself in front of my fly-tying vise. The prototypes that saw light of day were not, in their form, any different from those that one finds in retail stores but their odor was of an exceptional power. Immediately I went our in my boat and a few minutes later, guided by the frenetic flight of gulls, I approached a run of Bonitas. I barely tossed my line in the water when the fish were battling among themselves to take my fly.”

“The reason is simple my dear sirs. My fly was, thanks to the odor from the panties of Lisette imbued with a fragrance that is close to the perfume of tidal waters, and it’s well known that no fish can resist that delicate perfume.”

There, the stranger got up and left our table, paying the bill and leaving a generous tip for little Suzon who tucked it away saying “holy cow!”.

The man walked away but, before disappearing, turned to us and said: “Sirs, never forget that woman, thanks to her intimate perfume is the future of fly-fishing and the end of our debacles.”