Opening Day – Take the A Train.

Like the mating season, spring is on its way again, and we’re all excited (well, most of us) at the idea of FINALLY going back to the water’s edge to tease the trout! And since we’re all about good memories, here’s a story about the Opening of our beloved Flechemuller! It’ll keep you waiting!

I had carefully scoped out this corner of my river.  Never a parked car in the vicinity; a very happy sign. Around noon, the supposed hour of the famous hatch called the “12 o’clock hatch”, I descended toward the embankment with my new rod and a fly box with filled survivors from last year. The opening day of fishing was going to be a great success, I had dreamt it and dreams never lie. It had rained a little the preceding days and the water level was perfect.  A few may flies twittered hardily and I feverishly set up my material when an interloper appeared. He looked pretty laid back, nothing official about him, but pulling out a card from his pocket he said “Good morning, I am the new game warden. May I see your fishing license?”

Shit! What dumb luck. I departed from New York City the night before and buying a fishing license was the last thing on my mind. I started lying as well as I could: “Oh my God, oh my God (pretending to search all my pockets for the license). I must have forgotten the dumb license at home. You know jet-lag gets tougher and tougher the older you get, blah-blah, blah.”

“Jet-lag?” He asked, “where do you come from?”

“New York City. That’s where I live.”

“New York?” he said with that delicious occitan accent. “Damn, that’s my dream. Ah… New York… jazz… me, my passion is jazz. You should see my collection of 78’s. No one touches them but me. Not even my wife. A Treasure. Boy are you lucky.”

Magnificent subject; nothing better than jazz and New York to forget about my fishing license, so I really poured it on. “You should treat yourself to a trip to NY at least once in your life. With the euro exchange today it’s really affordable and jazz is part and parcel of New York City life. For example, an anecdote comes to me; you’ve probably heard of the great artist Piet Mondrian. During WW II  he sought refuge in New York and painted a sublime abstract painting called “Broadway Boogie Woogie” which was inspired by the uninterrupted movement of the city.

The painting was exposed and as people left the opening a group of black jazz musicians went up to Mondrian to congratulate him and said that: with this painting he really got it, the energy, the rhythm, the “jazz” of New York. Isn’t that a great story? Jazz is still everywhere in the Big Apple.  I’m sure that you know that celebrated work of Duke Ellington, the famous “A Train”.”

“Of course I do!” replied the game warden humming: “Tra… la la, la la la, pom pom pom, la la la la.”

“Exactly, that’s it. Well, believe me, every time I take the metro, the “A Train” that goes to Harlem… I am consumed by that music, still, and always. And the chorus of Charlie Mingus continues to whirl around in my head. Nothing to do, it’s just there and it’s delicious.”

There’s no doubt, that this representative of law and order was enthusiastic about my New York stories and me, I love to talk about my city, my stories grew bolder and I took immense pleasure. My rod and my flies flung me black glances (jealous, no doubt) and my old may flies were furious; I ignored them, shamefully, and sitting on the rocks under two big pine trees, the game warden and I blissfully exchanged our New York stories.

That night on returning home my adorable wife brought me a glass of scotch and inquired,  “Well, the opening day, how did it go?”

The only thing that I could say was: “Wonderfully”.