Furled Leaders

     After a dozen sessions practicing my fly casting I'd more or less destroyed the two leaders I'd brought along.  Call packing only two leaders confidence or call it ignorance, doesn't matter, that's all I had.  Figured I could always buy more down here but it turned out the tackle stores only pack their shelves with big water gear.  So I was dead in the water.
     Of course I went to the 21st Century crutch of the internet.  First I checked out building my own in the manner of knotting four lengths of monofilament of descending weights.  Classic.  Time honored and surprisingly, even for a regular guy like me, doable.  But that required buying four spools of mono and being frugal, more money than I wanted to spend.  So I put it off.
     Two years ago, on our way home from the southland, I ran into an ancient, southeastern Minnesota fly flinger who'd mentioned furled leaders.  Said they were the best thing since white bread.  But furled sounded way to much like braided to me and the idea of braiding fishing line sounded way too much like laying on a bed of nails.
     Then in a fit of a 'what the hell' moment I checked out how to build them on the web.  Looked like something even an idiot like me could do.  And it required only one spool of line.  Sweet.
     So I bought me a spool of eight pound test and set to work.  The first attempt turned into a hairball and was trash canned.  As did the second.  The third was in the ballpark but still not right.  Didn't matter.  I had 330 yards of line and only 6 yards per attempt.  But I was still running into twisty, hairball problems.
     Three videos later I hit the jackpot, a site where the demonstrator knew exactly what problems a guy like me would run into.  And how to avoid them.  And that I'd screw up a few before I got the hang of it.  He was right.
     After doing some casting it turns out that they work as advertised.  At a dime apiece I almost wish they didn't last so darned long.

Me and Emil

     Been away for a while 'cause me and my Uncle Emil have been on a Canadian fishin' trip up in Manitoba.  The year was (is) 1961.  Some of it may sound familiar.  Some just plain weird.
     Mostly it's a story that's writing itself.  Yup. I've been told stories don't really do that.  That if a person says that's what's happening, they're lyin'.  When I started all I'd figured out was that Emil and I were goin' fishing somewhere.  That it turned out to be Manitoba is no surprise.
     But somewhere along the way things began to happen.  What started out as an Emil story had evolved into a fourteen year old me story.  And is pointed toward being read by a fourteen year old boy.  Young adult literature with a mystical twist?   Didn't see that coming.  And didn't see where they were gonna end up till midway along their road.  And don't know if that will be the end of the story.
     Have to admit it's fun writing something like that.  As always, one thing leads to another.  Me and the boys sit down and think it over.  Something comes out.  Not earth shaking but what is?