This post is for all of you who wonder what in the heck there is to do all day in little Cuenca, Ecuador. There was an announcement in one of our online publications that a fly fishing casting class was being conducted in the pond at nearby Paradise Park. This is a sport I’ve tried and enjoyed, and one that I someday hoped to have the time to pursue. So yesterday morning I wandered over there to “get my learn on.”
On the way I bumped into some friends who, with tongues planted firmly in cheek, told me that Saturday was the End of the World. I pride myself on keeping up with pop culture from afar, but somehow the apocalypse itself had eluded me. Well, today is Sunday-------------. I heard the quack who predicted this was an evangelist whose previous prognostication had also been wrong. Suggested slogan for your next try, big guy: “Third Time’s the Charm!”
There was quite a good turnout of gringos young and old for the class, and most of them I had never met. You might think that over the course of a year in a small place like this everybody would kinda see or bump into each other somewhere or other. Apparently not.
I was really surprised that proper casting technique feels so awkward. When you’re using a cork you just let ‘er rip and fish wherever it lands. Fly fishing is much more Zen-like—when you’re doing it correctly the motion and rhythm are almost like a dance. No one would call me the Fred Astaire of this sport. I got my line all tangled up in a tree once on the backswing (it seems like this always happens, even when I go deep sea fishing!) and the fly didn’t exactly land where I intended most of the time, but by the time I left I feel like I had improved from horrible to perhaps awful. And I’m surprised my shoulder is damned sore today—fly fishing looks so relaxing!
I appeared to be the only member of the fly fisherpeople hurrying off to an afternoon commitment to attend a lecture by a gentleman named George Green (www.nohoax.com). He has had an interesting life doing stuff like banking, real estate development, and talking to aliens. Who wouldn’t want to hear what that guy has to say?
This was not a highly publicized event and riding over there in the cab I wondered if Cynthia and I might be the only ones there. Surprise—there were maybe 25-30 attendees, several that we knew, but again most of whom were strangers. Amazing. And I was right—no fly fishers.
George spoke matter-of-factly about stumbling upon an alien disk craft in a restricted hangar at Edwards Air Force base as a young soldier. He skillfully wove tales of his former career as a high-rolling banker and real estate developer with observations about how what’s going on in the world involves much more than what rank and file citizens are told. I kept thinking of The Matrix as he spoke.
Then he casually shared that he was in contact with E.T.’s from some place that starts with a P who have selected him to warn the human race that we are on a collision course with annihilation if we don’t wake up and take personal responsibility for changing the course of history. I have to say that whether or not aliens communicated this I don’t totally disagree with the message.
During the Q&A things got a bit---surprising. Why I would find anything surprising when I knowingly show up at a lecture about close encounters is debatable, but I must admit folks asking with straight faces about clones and form-changing reptilians walking among us caught even me off guard.
Still, three hours flew by with a not-something-you-do-every-day kind of experience that was fun and thought-provoking. And this was after I’d started the morning practicing my fly casting in the pond of a beautiful park.
So, what did you do Saturday?