The Art of Fibbing- A Guest Blog By Tammy Wilson

Any angler worth their salt knows the value of a good fib. It’s the difference between a skunking and an 8-pound bluegill, after all. It’s how a 10-inch brook trout becomes a 20 incher over the course of an afternoon, and a world record over the course of a lifetime. It’s what makes a slot sized redfish a trophy bull when the story is retold over the campfire.

There’s a definite art to the yarn, and some folks don’t give that fact enough credit. Some don’t understand the fine nuances, the unspoken rules or the definite boundaries that go along with a really great fish story. Amateurs may delve right in with stories of a 700 pound black drum that got away down at the inlet when any seasoned story teller will readily admit it’s a known fact black drum don’t grow over 539 pounds.

An experienced angler knows to truly appreciate the one that got away. The one that was caught and witnessed or photographed or seen by the angler is a fish with a diminished potential for growth. The lost fish, on the other hand, has an uncanny almost otherworldly ability to morph into astonishing sizes. Some of these growth spurts take only mere hours, while some grow indefinitely, depending on how many times the incident is rehashed squared by the amount of single malt scotch gone from one’s flask.

Before mastering the distortion of truth, it’s equally important anglers keep buried in the recesses of their brains an entire library of excuses and be able to conjure seven to nine of them up at any given time. Fast thinking and the ability to keep said excuses neatly organized depending on method and location of fishing is crucial. One simply cannot have caught any trout on the stream because the tide was all wrong, after all.

The invention of the digital camera has really taken away from the art of fibbing in a drastic and sad way. The ability to CPR (catch, photograph, release) a catch has taken imagination right out of the fishing tale. Immediate proof with the ability to instantly show off one’s catch on the World Wide Web if one chooses has cut into the fine moral fabric of the fish tale. It’s why in most cases, the dog ate my camera, the batteries were dead, I left it in my car and I hit the wrong button.

All content in this blog, including writing and photos, copyright John Kumiski 2013. All rights are reserved.