I’m sorry. To really appreciate this story, it’s necessary to read: Part One: Will You Shut Up?
Are We There Yet?
Personally, I find serial posts annoying. I want gratification. I want it now. And I find the cliffhangers annoying because they make me wait. But this story is best told in two parts.
Maybe you’re okay with serial posts? Please tell me what you think: annoying or the reasonable consequence of an on-line world where most people lose interest after 500 words?
Here goes.
There’s Something About Rich
It was that time of year again. Montanarama! In my previous life as a stockbroker, I worked on a team that hosted a fly-fishing event every June. We invited a few clients, never more than ten, to join us in small cattle town named Big Timber.
Nymphing The Gardner River, Yellowstone National Park, September 2005 (Photo credit: Wikipedia)
I was telling our guests and guides my story about Rich’s misadventures. As you may recall from Part One, Rich was a business legend. He was tallish, athletic, and in his mid sixties. He had a rangy look about him, perhaps because he arrived in an Orvis fishing vest with a thousand pockets, the kind of gear that says, “I’m trying too hard.”
When he smiled, you couldn’t help but stare at the gap between his two front teeth. And when he spoke, his southern accent was jarring.
What Do You Keep Inside All Those Pockets?
I finished my story and delivered the punch line. That’s when one of guides stepped forward and said, “I was in the boat last year with Rich.”
The guide told us, “I rowed Rich and Sam (another guest) to shore and noticed that my scissors-forceps were missing.”
Scissors-forceps are exactly what they sound like. The tool, about 5” inches in length, is one of those must-have items for fly-fishing. They’re used to trim line or grip hooks, any number of things. Fishermen hang them from the outside of their vests for easy access.
In any event Rich, of the thousand pockets, said, “You can borrow mine. He patted his vest for the scissors-forceps and, not finding them, unzipped one of those pockets and reached deep inside. He fumbled around for the longest time.
His face became a road map of wrinkles.
Rich—business giant, household legend with a long and storied career—pulled out a dead trout. “It was bloated and nasty,” the guide said. “Stunk something fierce.”
But business legends don’t give up when they’re fishing around (no pun intended) for scissors-forceps. Rich kept fumbling through his vest pockets.
“And then he pulled out a second trout,” the guide said. “It was nastier than the first. That’s when Rich sneezed and got dead trout gak up his nostrils.”
I’m not sure there is a precise definition for “gak.” But as the guide described the retching that followed, I realized that gak up the nose is never a good thing.
I know. I know. Time for a communal “Yuk.” If anything, this story illustrates the importance of catch-and-release fishing.
Back to the questions at hand: Do you like short posts with multiple parts? Or are you like me and want it all at once?
Related articles
- Fly fishing for muskes not for faint of heart (triblive.com)
- Montana Fly Fishing Heats Up in the late Winter (virtual-strategy.com)
- blanking, fish coffee and worms. (thelimpcobra.com)
The New York Times describes my novels as “money porn,” “a red-hot franchise,” and “glittery thrillers about fiscal malfeasance.” Through fiction I explore the dark side of money and the motivations of those who have it, want more, and will steamroll anybody who gets in their way.
Although I can cope with multi-part blog posts, my decided preference is to get all the story at once.
I like a post all at once, too. However posts containing the words “fish gak” get a free pass. I think that must be a smell that cannot be un-smelled.
Oh the horror, the horror.
Three comments, Norb. First, “Dead Trout Gak” would be an awesome name for an indie rock band–all props to Dave Barry for the concept. Second, absolutely. Do a thousand words in one post. We can take it. And third, this story–both parts–now takes on the same aura as Chris Bohjalian’s “Contemplating the Perfect Literary Crime” in 2011 (look it up). Chris wrote about an unnamed Famous Writer visiting at Amherst who told him when he was an undergraduate: You can’t write. “Be a banker.” Decades later, by now the major literary force that he is, and NYT bestseller, he was asked to review the F.W., but declined because, well, he is the better man. But he could have pulled off the perfect literary crime. To this day he has never identified that writer. So here, like the continuing lit-gossipy speculation surrounding Bohjalian’s tale, let the game begin. Who, really, is “Rich” . . . ? Well done, and well written, my friend. Nice work.
Love this story about CB.
Fun story, Norb. Sorry if there are stupid questions, but why did he put a trout—let alone two—in a vest pocket in the first place? Also didn’t anyone suspect anything? For instance, did he smell like trout gak?