The name Fluffington is being used in this series as a cover. There are many Fluffingtons out there, you probably know a few, so don't go makin' up stories and sayin' Im writin' about you!
...it was in the sunset hours of summer. We were driftin' along a slow ebb when it happened. Fluffington was sorta hunched over in the front seat retyin' his leader usin' a double uni and slobberin' on it to make sure it took. He'd been snappin' off fish most of the afternoon, but daggum if he had any quit in 'em. As for me? Well I was just trying my best to use the paddle as a rudder gliding on a four knot current. Man, life was good. Who would have expected an explosion of this magnitude? I mean shoot, Fluffington was half awake, I was dazed and driving the outgoing tide, and BOOM! A depth charge goes off!
Now being a man of strong Christian faith I refained from using any foul language, but that didn't mean I wasn't going to crap my pants! Before I could though, the water errupts again, this time even larger and only about twenty yards off the starboard bow. It was almost like the Navy was closing in on us with the big guns. It was because of this that Fluffington did crap his. It wasn't on purpose really, see, he kind of panicked trying to get his rod in position to make a cast, and when he did he shifted wrong in the boat. Well I counter leaned from the backseat just in time, or Fluffington was going in the drink. As he was catching his balance he kinda leaned funny. Oh Fluffy, well, he thought he'd be cute and take the opportunity to fart and when Fluffy farted, well, he crapped his pants!
If that aint enough! I was trying to make a cast when he did it. But, I was laughing so hard I tossed my plug in Fluffy's hair! Now I'm dyin' laughin'; he's freakin' out thinkin' he needs a doctor, and we're bangin' around in that aluminum canoe so loud you would think there was a Rasta band in the mangroves! By the time I dug those treble hooks outta' Fluffy's hair and ear, that big behemouth of a Snook was long gone. Therefore, from this day forward, Fluffington and JSnooky are goin' fishin'.
In the beginning ...
In the beginning ...
Last edited by JSnooky on Sun Feb 19, 2012 6:48 pm, edited 1 time in total.
"Nooooooooo! Not unless you smell something!"
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Lime Cider
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Re: In the beginning ...
Fluffy rocks! I dare say I shat myself a time or two. But that's another story.
Senior Exalted Pro Staff Member of the Paddle-Fishing.com Kayak & Canoe Anglers Club
"SANCTUARY!!!"
Capitalization is the difference between helping your Uncle Jack off a horse, and helping your uncle jack off a horse.
"SANCTUARY!!!"
Capitalization is the difference between helping your Uncle Jack off a horse, and helping your uncle jack off a horse.
Re: In the beginning ...
...Fluffington Chronicles Continued...
A lot of people ask me how Fluffy got his name. He's a big fella, well over six feet tall and probably weighin' in at around 270 pounds but he's soft as a Teddy bear. He has untamable hair, not only on his head, but pretty much everywhere. To look at him you would think he was part Grizzly bear, but in reality he's just a good ole boy. When you combine all of that hair with that Teddy bear personality, well it just makes him Fluffy. Women love to hug him, they tell him he's a sweetheart and crap like that, but I know that's just girl speak for "you're a nice guy, but you don't stand a chance." I've never told that to my friend, because he walks around thinking the ladies love him and that's all right by me.
Mr. Fluffington as I refer to him most of the time, is the kinda guy that is there for you. I don't mean he hangs out to watch the game, I mean there for you in the dark times, when you think the world has shut you out. Fluffy is good with a wrench or a saw, he is amazing with wood and a hammer, and can pretty much handle any kind of home improvement project with outstanding results. But, give Fluffy a fishin' rod and something unusual happens. The moment before he puts a fishin' rod in his hand, Mr. Fluffington is a Maistro keeping an orchestra of talents and skills in perfect rythm and time. When that rod touches his hands though, he is suddenly stupid, real, real stupid. I don't mean this in a bad way now. Because the fact of the matter is, most of the time it turns out pretty daggum funny!
There was the time we were anchored up on a point on a good flood tide. It was early Spring and the Greenbacks were schoolin' up real nice and washin' downstream over the oyster bars. Those little chicken Snook were blowin' up all around us and I was havin' a great time with a top-water plug. It was mid morning and there was barely a breeze, yet Fluffy seemed to manage a wind knot on every third cast. I'd land two or three Snook and Fluffy would be up front cussin' and tryin' to untangle his spool. This went on most of the morning, until he finally got off a decent cast and by some sort of divine intervention put it right in the zone.
Watchin' my partner try and walk the dog with his lure is similar to watching a jockey beat a horse down the final stretch at Pimlico. The lure never really walks, it just flies back at the canoe in a real hurry. He usually ends up with a hook point in his face, arm, or shoulder. For some unknown reason though, this time Fluffy didn't get much chance to screw up. Because the first time he twitched that rod tip a vacuum of water sucked his lure under in a whirlpool! Now I'd been catchin' 26 inchers all day long, but this ladies and gentleman was no 26 incher.
As usual Fluffy panicked and almost dumped us out of the boat, but I am ready on most occasions and I took the necessary preventive measures to counter his movements. He was tryin' to reel while that drag was just screamin' and that fish was heading for the mouth of Tampa Bay at light speed. Thankfully I disconnected the anchor and let the weight of the boat help my friend out. Yup, we were takin' a sleigh ride. With his rod tip up, the rod bowed at the reel seat. Fluffy was pantin' and strainin' somethin' awful and the sweat was buildin' up on his hairy arms and shoulders. He looked real slippery.
Ten maybe fifteen minutes goes by and Fluffy still hasn't got that fish to the boat, now that big sweaty slippery fella is cussin' something terrible. Finally we beach the canoe on a sand spit and I tell Fluffy to get out and stand up to fight it. So, he goes to stand up and falls flat out of the boat in the shallows face down holdin' that rod with a death grip! I thought he was cussin' somethin' terrible before the fall, what I found out though, was I hadn't even heard what cussin' was up till then.
He finally gets to his feet and realizes he should crank down on the drag a touch. The fish is startin' to tire by now and any good angler knows to keep pressure on that fish and your rod tip up. He was doin' that too! Well, kind of. Every now and then he would lower the rod tip and then pull it straight up as hard as he could like he was tryin' to set the hook on a Marlin. By now this fish is probably tweny yards away and it's real shallow so you can see its back. It was that magical greenish silver color that the big Spring Snook have up in these parts and I'm thinkin' Fluffy's gonna land a 40inch fish. That's when I heard the squeal.
You know that noise girls make when they see a mouse? That high pitched shriek that they let out and can shatter your ear drums. Well, I heard one of those in the middle of the mangroves! Now I was hunched over the cooler pullin' out a sandwich, so it didn't register with me that this sound didn't come from a girl. Sure, it should have, I mean, men don't sound like that. But this was not a girl, this was Fluffy. He had thrown his rod in the water and was runnin' down the shoreline screamin' like a little girl, because he saw a Banded Water Snake on a Mangrove branch! There he was all 270 pounds of him splashin' down the shore, and there was his rod and reel runnin' out to sea at mach 5 towed behind a trophy fish. What was a man like me to do? Well, I looked at the sandwich in my hand, the rod heading out to sea, and Fluffy a hundred yards out by now and I realized my best course of action was to sit down and eat my lunch. So, after I finished laughing, that's exactly what I did. After lunch I had to paddle down the canal about a quarter mile, because Fluffy wasn't comin' to me. He lost about $150 worth of fishin' gear that day, but I gained a million dollar memory. Oh and I learned that Fluffy aint much for snakes.
A lot of people ask me how Fluffy got his name. He's a big fella, well over six feet tall and probably weighin' in at around 270 pounds but he's soft as a Teddy bear. He has untamable hair, not only on his head, but pretty much everywhere. To look at him you would think he was part Grizzly bear, but in reality he's just a good ole boy. When you combine all of that hair with that Teddy bear personality, well it just makes him Fluffy. Women love to hug him, they tell him he's a sweetheart and crap like that, but I know that's just girl speak for "you're a nice guy, but you don't stand a chance." I've never told that to my friend, because he walks around thinking the ladies love him and that's all right by me.
Mr. Fluffington as I refer to him most of the time, is the kinda guy that is there for you. I don't mean he hangs out to watch the game, I mean there for you in the dark times, when you think the world has shut you out. Fluffy is good with a wrench or a saw, he is amazing with wood and a hammer, and can pretty much handle any kind of home improvement project with outstanding results. But, give Fluffy a fishin' rod and something unusual happens. The moment before he puts a fishin' rod in his hand, Mr. Fluffington is a Maistro keeping an orchestra of talents and skills in perfect rythm and time. When that rod touches his hands though, he is suddenly stupid, real, real stupid. I don't mean this in a bad way now. Because the fact of the matter is, most of the time it turns out pretty daggum funny!
There was the time we were anchored up on a point on a good flood tide. It was early Spring and the Greenbacks were schoolin' up real nice and washin' downstream over the oyster bars. Those little chicken Snook were blowin' up all around us and I was havin' a great time with a top-water plug. It was mid morning and there was barely a breeze, yet Fluffy seemed to manage a wind knot on every third cast. I'd land two or three Snook and Fluffy would be up front cussin' and tryin' to untangle his spool. This went on most of the morning, until he finally got off a decent cast and by some sort of divine intervention put it right in the zone.
Watchin' my partner try and walk the dog with his lure is similar to watching a jockey beat a horse down the final stretch at Pimlico. The lure never really walks, it just flies back at the canoe in a real hurry. He usually ends up with a hook point in his face, arm, or shoulder. For some unknown reason though, this time Fluffy didn't get much chance to screw up. Because the first time he twitched that rod tip a vacuum of water sucked his lure under in a whirlpool! Now I'd been catchin' 26 inchers all day long, but this ladies and gentleman was no 26 incher.
As usual Fluffy panicked and almost dumped us out of the boat, but I am ready on most occasions and I took the necessary preventive measures to counter his movements. He was tryin' to reel while that drag was just screamin' and that fish was heading for the mouth of Tampa Bay at light speed. Thankfully I disconnected the anchor and let the weight of the boat help my friend out. Yup, we were takin' a sleigh ride. With his rod tip up, the rod bowed at the reel seat. Fluffy was pantin' and strainin' somethin' awful and the sweat was buildin' up on his hairy arms and shoulders. He looked real slippery.
Ten maybe fifteen minutes goes by and Fluffy still hasn't got that fish to the boat, now that big sweaty slippery fella is cussin' something terrible. Finally we beach the canoe on a sand spit and I tell Fluffy to get out and stand up to fight it. So, he goes to stand up and falls flat out of the boat in the shallows face down holdin' that rod with a death grip! I thought he was cussin' somethin' terrible before the fall, what I found out though, was I hadn't even heard what cussin' was up till then.
He finally gets to his feet and realizes he should crank down on the drag a touch. The fish is startin' to tire by now and any good angler knows to keep pressure on that fish and your rod tip up. He was doin' that too! Well, kind of. Every now and then he would lower the rod tip and then pull it straight up as hard as he could like he was tryin' to set the hook on a Marlin. By now this fish is probably tweny yards away and it's real shallow so you can see its back. It was that magical greenish silver color that the big Spring Snook have up in these parts and I'm thinkin' Fluffy's gonna land a 40inch fish. That's when I heard the squeal.
You know that noise girls make when they see a mouse? That high pitched shriek that they let out and can shatter your ear drums. Well, I heard one of those in the middle of the mangroves! Now I was hunched over the cooler pullin' out a sandwich, so it didn't register with me that this sound didn't come from a girl. Sure, it should have, I mean, men don't sound like that. But this was not a girl, this was Fluffy. He had thrown his rod in the water and was runnin' down the shoreline screamin' like a little girl, because he saw a Banded Water Snake on a Mangrove branch! There he was all 270 pounds of him splashin' down the shore, and there was his rod and reel runnin' out to sea at mach 5 towed behind a trophy fish. What was a man like me to do? Well, I looked at the sandwich in my hand, the rod heading out to sea, and Fluffy a hundred yards out by now and I realized my best course of action was to sit down and eat my lunch. So, after I finished laughing, that's exactly what I did. After lunch I had to paddle down the canal about a quarter mile, because Fluffy wasn't comin' to me. He lost about $150 worth of fishin' gear that day, but I gained a million dollar memory. Oh and I learned that Fluffy aint much for snakes.
"Nooooooooo! Not unless you smell something!"
Re: In the beginning ...
Hey Sorry Rik I gotta a little carried away. My bad, I won't make anymore strange posts lol! Nope, not me man, I'm good.
"Nooooooooo! Not unless you smell something!"
Re: In the beginning ...
No apology needed . Keep on writing.
Over every mountain there is a path, although it may not be seen from the valley
Re: In the beginning ...
"DON'T CALL ME FLUFFY!"
"If you don't know history, then you don't know anything. You are a leaf that doesn't know it is part of a tree." - Michael Crichton
Re: In the beginning ...
John wrote:"DON'T CALL ME FLUFFY!"
"Likes smokey old pool rooms N clear mountain mornins. Little warm puppies, children and girls of the night"?