Oh My Tortured Soul…The Spin Fishing Stuff Is In The Back

by BentRodMedia March 06, 2010

Like most everything else in my existence, my fishing career was gone about from the ass end. My Dad never fished, so as a kid I never really fished, that is until I found fly fishing. I completely skipped over the formative years of casting a cane pole with a worm on it, or flicking a piece of corn out, only for a trout to snap it up like a Mayan eats maize. When I found fishing as a young man it was fly fishing or nothing. My spin fishing experience mainly consisted of the occasional trip into Bass Pro (six Budweisers deep) on the way to the lake, and buying the stupidest, most intellectually offensive items I could find. My evaluation process was a strict system of buying what looked like it smelled the most like a cross between my Grandfather’s feet and the inside of a Porta-John. The stankier the better is what the guy on ESPN2 said, and that guy looked like he knew a thing or two about all things big and stinky. I admit that I looked at spin fishing as cheating, a hollow victory to say the least. I never despised spin fisherman, as some fly anglers will admit to. I did despise however, the lazy bastards that poached out my regular waters within a couple of days of catch and release stockings (most likely a lot of poachers were blamed for me fishing like an asshole and just not catching anything). It just so happened most of the poachers happened to be spin fisherman, but I never blamed the manner in which they fished, instead focusing my pre-pubescent tantrums on their sheer laziness and ignorance. All in all spin fishing has been more of a looking in from the outside and laughing or crying my ass off kind of thing for years. Flash forward to today (it’s my blog and I will employ any meta-physical tom foolery I see fit). I am now employed in a shop as a counter monkey and guide. The shop I am employed by sells not only fly gear but also everything your average spin fisherman needs for an All-American day out on the water. In my role as shop monkey I often find myself quoting Jimmy Houston in reference to the new Yum Salted Soft Plastic Crayfish. When people ask me to recommend a spinning bait that is working my fly fishing soul wants to shout, “It doesn’t matter…any of this shit will fool a fish you unsporting Bastardo…KILL ME NOW!”. Instead I usually mutter something about whatever the last guy in the shop said was killing them that day, inevitably something of the pumpkin seed fluke variety. I don’t hold my bosses responsible for the angel and the devil that have taken up residence on my shoulder. They are in a business, and in our area people like to spin fish and in turn buy spin fishing accouterments. Believe me, I comprehend the difference between what you do for a dollar and what you love doing (I have done plenty of shit for money that we will never speak of). All of this reason and rationale plays over and over in my head, but I still find myself wandering around the spin fishing section of our shop laughing as to the silliness of it all. In that vein I give you the most mind-blowingly absurd products to catch fish that I sell on a daily basis. Welcome to the insanity, I need a raise.

“They Named This After a Medical Condition My Buddy Had In High School”

“It Would Make Me Feel A Lot Better About The Intelligence of Trout If They Would Stop Eating Stuff Called Bubble Gum…I Assure You This Smells Nothing Like Bubble Gum”

“The Skull And Crossbones Speaks To The Pirate In Every Spin Fisherman”

“I Like To Lug My Eggs Around Town On My Belt…Just In Case”I Like To Lug My Jar of Eggs Around Town On My Belt...Just In Case

At least we don’t have a bait vending machine…yet,

– Nymph-o

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