gearing up

I get these fishing catalogs in the mail darn near about three a week. Cabela's, Orvis, Bass Pro, or from more specialty shops (the good ones). In them are the latest titanium reels, anodized hooks, sta-dri, wix-away, H20Maxx gear running far higher than my savings account would afford.
Still, every once in a while, I get the itch. "I wonder what that disc drag would feel like with a five-pound redfish on the other end," or "I bet I could heave four ounces of mullet on that graphite composite past the third breaker with that rascal."
Then I'm again grounded in reality: My son, Kostyn Orrie, sits on a new carpet, playing with pricey Danish toys in an Egyptian cotton romper.
OK, maybe not. But I'd rather give him all those things than plink down $450 on the custom 10 foot graphite rod with the hand-painted topless mermaid just above the stock.
Of course, it would be good conversation on the beach.
But there's a point in a man's life, and maybe we get waylaid from it and have to come back to it, that comes like a rock flung from a slingshot that hits you squarely in the temple — just enough to buckle your knees, but not enough to take them out from under you: Less is more.
Catalogs are evil, pure and simple. They tell you what you need instead of you getting what you need.
Case in point always comes while I'm on the river or casting into the ocean. The gear I used during my first year to the outerbanks, let's recap:
• A 6-foot Shakespeare composite rod not made for saltwater ($8);
• A Shakespeare open bail reel with 10-pound test on it, and I should note that while everyone else was having the local fishing shop guide spin the new 10-pound line on their reels, I was too ashamed, so I used last season's line ($15);
• A Sears (I believe) 10-foot surfcast rod, complete with vintage cork, thread and eyes (free from Bob);
• A Shakespeare saltwater series reel (my big expenditure) with 20 pound line ($39);
• Assorted jiggs, hooks, spoons (okay, one), jigg heads, a free fillet knife (I'll have it for life, Bob), a tackle bag, free bag chair, five-gallon paint bucket, free color and beer (Bud, of course) and ice (We'll say $50);
• A pair of rubber pants tucked into rubber boots (I was soaked and miserable, and I don't mind telling you that the $100 I spent the next season on neoprines was the best investment I've made) ($20).
My return? A cooler full of speckles, one that was a trophy fish (in the 5 five-pound neighborhood) and a few spottails.
Since that first trip with Bob and BJ, my rate of return hasn't quite met my investment. Don't get me wrong, save for last year's hurricane that left us playing pitch via candlelight and drinking warm beer instead of fishing, I've done quite well with the bluefish. Enough so that each year I get the tattoo of two teeth in my left index finger. Sometimes more than once.
But that first trip was far and away the best as far as the fishing went.
But here's the thing: When you're out on the Outer Banks' beaches in November casting into the surf or standing waist-deep in an April river in Tennessee, the feeling overcomes a man: Simplicity.
There are folks fishing who are garbed up in the latest North Face wear, or in the trendy Orvis shirts or Cabella's fleece, but is this what fishermen really wear? It's one of the reasons I stopped playing golf after my dad passed (although, certainly, that had the most to do with it), was that you were expected to look the part — sort of like having a bumper sticker on your car to let the world know what brand of person you are.
If fishing is indeed the purest of sports (certainly hunting is up there, too; it's just that I don't hunt. Why would I when I could be out fishing?), then why tarnish it with commercialism and the magnetic draw that those magazines have over us; sort of like a crack dealer with his whores.
I read somewhere that a flyrod is, indeed, an important tool, and that while you could fish and catch with something bought at a garage sale or at the local Kmart, it's not a good idea. Simply put: You won't catch as many fish because you won't be able to deliver the fly where it's needed. True words.
Then again, there's no reason to spend $500 on a rod; $100 usually does the trick.
And a fly reel that costs more than $50 is just silly. After all, they simply just hold the line. Whoever thinks that you reel in a fish while flyfishing is just silly. Drags? Barely need them.
You walk a fish out, tire it, then bring it to you, plain and simple. This isn't bass fishing on Lake Nitro...
And, again, after a good set of waders, a pair of jeans, flannel shirt and rubber raincoat is about all you need.
Probably a hat, too. Just not one of those green felt Orvis ones...