Fish Porn – Rated for Mature Audiences Only

When I started writing this a few days ago, I didn’t know there was a Bassmasters Classic that was to be held over the weekend down in Louisiana. I don’t pay attention to those things. I’d rather sit around watching golf on TV with my dad if I needed something to make me go brain dead.

I normally wouldn’t put something like this on my blog. Though I can and do swear profusely at times, I don’t do it while I’m typing. Normally, write ups like this go on a semi-private site for friends. They get the humor, or don’t. Don’t like it, don’t read it is generally my attitude.

But the coincidence of this is just too good to pass up. So, you were warned. Rated MA for adult content and language. Don’t like that, don’t read it.

When I hear the term Fish Porn, I immediately think of the pictures that are popular on the web and in the magazines. Young, healthy men and women thrusting the heads of big fish into the wide angle lens of a camera. You can’t help but look because of the effect a wide angle lens has on subject matter. Distorts it just to the point where it starts to look deformed, but you can still distinctly make out the details.

That is also the problem with using camera equipment like that, just about anything you shoot is going to look interesting. It’s so out of the realm of how we actually see things it will be interesting solely for calling attention to its distortions. The effect is so simple to achieve that I’ll bet I can take a well trained chimpanzee and show it how to take interesting photos.

I quit reading the majority of the mainstream fishing magazines a long time ago. Lost interest in the big name fishing shows about the same time. I don’t have any interest in spending $30,000 on a boat and then driving it across a lake or down a river at 50 mph just to catch a fish. I don’t use that gear, I don’t use the lures they use . . . it’s all information that is pretty much wasted on me. I’ve been out of the loop with things like that, I didn’t know how things have changed.

I was wandering around Bass Pro Shop the other day. I never go to buy anything, just wander around looking at things. Don’t know why I do that, just do, shiny objects.

I stopped in front of a television on a shelf. What caught my attention was the gaudy bright colors of the shirt the angler was wearing. That’s nothing new, I’ve seen that Nascar type shirt on pro circuit anglers before, this one just seemed so bright. He’s standing on the deck of an expensive boat, in the background is a beautiful wooded shoreline. Between the two are weed beds and some lily pads.

I have no clue who the guy was, I don’t pay attention to that stuff. All I had in my head was that this guy is standing in a beautiful, pristine environment wearing one of the most disgustingly gaudy shirts I’ve ever seen. And he didn’t seem embarrassed.

Someone came and stood next to me to watch the show. I wasn’t in the mood for company so I turned to him and said “I have a couple of gay friends that would be more than happy to help him with his little fashion faux pax.” He stood looking at me, eyelids starting to blink faster like windshield wipers on high. I knew some brain cells behind those eyes were thinking over that statement. Without a word, he turned and walked away.

The fishing peacock was going on about some new lure. I heard a weight mentioned of about an ounce. Things were taken apart and put back together. That was supposed to do something, but I missed the point. I was so fascinated by that shirt I couldn’t concentrate.

Then they started showing the lure swimming through the water, over and over again. I kept expecting to see a bass come up and smash it, but it never happened. My head was saying, figures, if I were a fish I wouldn’t eat that piece of shit.

Finally the peacock stands up on the boat deck. The camera cuts in tight to show him using a two handed grasp on a broomstick like rod and flinging this lure into the air. I couldn’t believe he needed all that effort just to fling a lure 50 or 60 feet. I could have done that with a pretty simple flick of the wrist, maybe a little effort from my elbow down. I don’t think I’ve ever needed two hands to cast anything.

You could tell by the way the clip was edited that they probably made a lot of those casts before a bass dumb enough came up and hit the lure.

He set the hook on it like he was setting a hook on a tarpon. Arms tucked down tight in front, jerking the rod back and back and back, the whole time saying, “Oh yeah, that’s good, that’s a good one, oh yeah.” Jerk, jerk, jerk on that rod and I’m thinking “Oh my god, I’m watching some guy jerk off with a fishing pole in his hand.”

They cut to the fish. He’s lifting his line to make the fish jump, it’s an old trick. “Oh yeah, oh baby that’s a good one, oh baby.”

I can’t believe what I’m hearing, this is just wrong.

The fish finally gets close to the boat. I’m expecting the peacock to reel up as much line as possible, lean over and lip the fish. That’s what I would do. Instead, with too much line out on the rod, he lays down on his back with his spine as the dividing point between what is on and what is off the boat. All I hear is “what the fuck are you doing?” It’s me talking to the damn television.

Now he’s sprawled on the deck of the boat. Rod in his left hand and he’s extending it as far as he can to tighten up the too much line he has out. With his right arm he’s extending it as far as he possibly can in a desperate reach for the bass. I hear this coming out of the television. “Ohhhh that’s a good one, oooohhh that’s good, c’mon, c’mon, ohhhhh that’s good.”

At this point I have beads of sweat forming on my forehead, I wipe it off. This is just sick. Just as he is putting his fingers under the gill plate of the bass and saying “Commmmeee onnnn,” I hear my voice . . .

“Stand the fuck up, reel in the line, bend the hell over and just lip the goddamn thing.”

I stood there for a second, remembering why my kids are always saying “daaaad, must you?”

The peacock lifts the fish out of the water and says the words I despise, “look at the size of that hawg.” My mind goes into flashback mode. The movie Deliverance suddenly appears in my head. “You Sure Gotta Purdy Mouth Thar Boy.” Ned Beatty naked on all fours with some hillbilly behind him pulling on his ear and screaming “squeeeaaal, squeeeeaaaal, like a pig, c’mon, squeeeeealllllll.”

My brain goes into a cramp. Pig, hawg, oh god please tell me I’m wrong, there’s no way.

I stood up straight looking straight ahead. I turned my head. The guy behind the counter about 20 feet away was looking at me. I was quiet for a second, then shrugged my shoulders and pointed at the television, “Fucking idiot.” Then I walked away.

I couldn’t believe what I had just watched. Some guy laying on his back on a boat deck trying to land what wound up being barely a 3 pound fish and moaning and groaning like he’s having the best damn orgasm he ever had in his life. I’m so out of the loop, I didn’t know that this is how bass anglers are depicted. No wonder the fly guys and trout anglers think we’re neanderthals, we are. Shit, they are. I don’t want to be lumped into this.

That depressed the shit out of me. No wonder bass anglers can’t be relied on for anything when it comes to conservation, volunteering time to causes, river cleanups, you name it. Anything good for the resources and it’s next to impossible to get them interested. At least the average guy. He’s too busy at home watching fish porn with his pants down around his ankles and . . . I don’t want to think about it. The guys that are showing up to help are probably the ones that ain’t gettin’ themselves none back at home.

Then I realized things aren’t that much better on the trout side of the world. The world where I thought snobbery and elitism would keep that kind of showmanship at bay. But even though the trout guys aren’t picking up on the lack of fashion sense, we’ll have to wait to see if Orvis or Simms picks up on the trend, they are no stranger to the fish porn.

I’ve noticed far too many of those thrusting-head first-red fish in spawning color types of images lately. John Holmes goes fly fishing. Really, you didn’t notice the phallic symbolism when you shot that image?

My ex father-in-law had that habit of kissing a good sized bass on the head before releasing it back to the lake where it originated. I always thought that was a bit odd, but we were in Virginia, that might be normal there. Then he taught my daughter this. I’ve seen her kiss rock bass and even creek chubs on the head before releasing them. “You do know that’s not right?” But she thinks they’re cute and they probably need a kiss. Fish porn crosses the gender line and I can’t stop it.

No wonder I fish alone so much. No groaning, no hawg or pig comments, no “ooohh babbbby, c’monnnn baby.” Hook a fish, reel it in, look it over, take a picture maybe. As I’m finning it in the water letting it regain it’s strength I’m thinking, keep it and eat it or let it go. Let it go usually wins, unless I really have a taste for beer battered smallmouth.

Now and then you have no choice but to go along with what you find out on the river. Cold or warm blooded, everything has some form of sex. Sometimes you sit there watching because, well, what else is there to do. Then you take some pictures for the heck of it because what you found was interesting after all.

Then you get home, look at the pictures and something in the back of your head keeps mumbling, “you know, that’s just not right. Not what they’re doing, but the fact that you stood there watching, then took pictures.”

“They’re turtles for gods sake!”