The
more I stared at the cold-weather fishing gloves, the less I wanted to get on the water and test my Arctic survival skills.
FINAL WORD
THE SHIVERS
BY ROBERT ROBINSON
I’ m tired of hunkering in the house, listening to snow and sleet rattle the windows, and now I’ m running on negative pressure.
Fly boxes are filled, rods repaired, and fly lines and reels cleaned. I start checking weather reports, looking for any break that will get me out there. I mean, I’ m ready to do some fishing, weather be damned.
Memories of those first cold, miserable days, when I find myself standing on the banks of an icy stream, shivering like I’ m passing a peach seed, wishing I was back at the house holding
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The
a hot cup of Irish coffee, are long gone. I try not to think about breaking through snow and going in up to my waist.
I pull out the cold weather gear and look through my survival kit. I restock my ruck with Power Bars and instant coffee, and make sure I have three ways to start a fire. I repack the ruck with a camp stove, coffee pot, tin cup, dry socks, and a poncho. I sharpen my K-bar and strap it to the ruck. My leaky waders have been repaired. My buffalo hair watch cap is right where it’ s supposed to be. Almost good to go: Then I see them, the chink in my armor— cold-weather fishing gloves. A chill runs up my spine.
I found these medieval torture devices on the discount table at a local fly-shop / gas station / bar and grill one summer. They are made of the same space-age material wetsuits utilize— rubber. Actually they call the stuff neoprene, and when I looked it up in the dictionary, to get the spelling right, I discovered Websters had the unmitigated gonads to mention gloves in the definition. But in that August heat, they looked like they’ d be downright hot to wear. I checked the tag— MADE IN CHINA.
more I stared at the cold-weather fishing gloves, the less I wanted to get on the water and test my Arctic survival skills.
That fall, when I was standing up to my waist in freezing water, wondering how many fingers I was going to lose to frostbite, I had a clear men tal picture of two Chinese men slapping each other on the back and yukking it up on their way to the bank:“ Cold-weather fishing gloves... haw, haw, hawwwwwww!”
Designed with anglers in mind, they fit tight, and the thumbs and forefingers can be folded back and held“ out of the way” with Velcro— to facilitate tying on tippet and flies and stripping
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