Taking a Flyer on a Book of Dreams

I ordered a book from Amazon last week, which is not unusual because I try to read two books every month, but rarely have I anticipated one quite this much. In fact, I don’t think any Robbins family member has been so excited for a new volume since my 9-year-old nephew wore his full Gryffindor suit for a month while waiting for the 872nd Harry Potter book to come out.

 The title: “GT: A Fly Fisher’s Guide to Giant Trevally” by Peter McLeod.

insideline-blog-bookofdreams02.jpg

Now this may strike you as odd, as it does me, that I’d order an instructional book that I’m unlikely to use. After all, my Rodan and Fields sales have yet to take off, I still owe heavily on my mortgage, and you can’t sell blood as often as you could back in the freewheeling '80s. The chance that I’ll ever go fish for Giant Trevally is low. The chance that I’ll do so in one of the storied spots like Alphonse Island, the Seychelles, Mauritius or the Maldives, is even lower. And the likelihood that I’ll do so with a fly rod is verging on nil. Nevertheless, like the kids in the Chess Club reading “The Joy of Sex,” I want to be ready if the opportunity presents itself.

Of all of the daydreaming that I do – and there’s lots of it – GTs have become a particular passion, because not only are they found in beautiful places, but also because pound-for-pound it seems like they can kick the crap out of any other fish. Nearly every video I watch seems to end up with a broken rod or two, and even when the angler eventually prevails, he often ends up as winded as the “geet.” Indeed, one chapter in the book is called “Get fit for the fight,” which you likely wouldn’t see in a volume about panfishing or flounder pounding.

The book set me back nearly thirty bucks, which is far more than I typically spend on something I’ll plow through in a few concerted sessions, and especially for something that I may not really understand. Still, it’s less than the cost of a good GT popper, and only a fraction of a percent of what an actual trip to Christmas Island would cost. For now, it’ll have to do, but I’ll keep the fire lit – when you stop dreaming, you die.