Mr. Roboto

Although fishing on a man-made impoundment doesn’t really qualify as a Wilderness Experience – I typically like to think any form of fishing should be an escape from it all.  But during this outing the wilderness was going to have a soundtrack – a shitty soundtrack – supplied by campers nearby.

The thunderstorm overhead had just cleared off, and hopes were high for some big brown trout as we pushed our craft into the water.  Camp #1 blared out some R. Kelly song.  Not being entirely familiar with all of Mr. Kelly’s work I’m not certain which hot jam it was – but they all kind of sound the same – so for good measure lets go with this one:

Josh and I joked about how painful the music was, and I started to kick my tube down a channel and within the first 10 kicks a big tug was felt at the end of my line.  The R. Kelly still blaring, I envisioned that the fish on the end of my line was not a 22″ brown, rather something like this:

131202_BB_RKellyAnimatedDolphin.gif.CROP.original-original

The fight was electric, my reel was screaming in-time to the deep bass track – but when the fish finally surfaced, it was comically too large for the net, and looked nothing like the R&B star.  I was not disappointed though.

I feared the first cast curse might have been the actual soundtrack for the rest of the evening for me.  Attempting to push that negative thought out of my mind, campsite #2 chimed in with a song that was new to me – and one that I hope to never hear again.

Sadly – no fish came to hand during that ditty.  And no fish were hooked while listening Kid Rock’s My Name Is Rock or Iggy Azalea’s Fancy. Was the first-cast curse coming true?  Just then MC Hammer’s Can’t Touch This came blaring from camp #2.  At that point I’m pretty sure I muttered some expletives, just as a mother at camp #2 yelled similar words at one of her offspring that had thrown a rock at another.

At that point I turned towards my inner peace, and tried to block it all out.  I’m Fishing – don’t let the yokels’ music bring you down!  But I could not block out:

Domo arigato, Mr. Roboto [どうもありがとうミスターロボット],
Mata au hi made [また会う日まで]
Domo arigato, Mr. Roboto [どうもありがとうミスターロボット],
Himitsu wo shiri tai [秘密を知りたい]

Styx.  Of course I hadn’t heard an 80’s song yet.  Campsite 2 was bringing the a-game.

I think this song pissed off some of the fish too, because right around …

The problem’s plain to see:
Too much technology
Machines to save our lives.
Machines dehumanize.

… TUG, TUG and hook set.  And there I was, fighting the biggest brown of the night that pushed past the 2′ mark, without a net, only equipped with 80’s music and my robotic powers.  No camera to snap a picture – the moment was just between me, the beautiful brown, and Mr. Roboto.

And so the evening went on.  Pretty slow overall – but with a steady flow of horrible music.  It didn’t matter though – it kind of made it feel like I was in some sort of strange dreamscape – playing a video game, and when my mind was wandering one more trout asked me to dance.

IMG_1629

Sometimes life, like fishing, gives you a shitty soundtrack.  And instead of getting upset, you just have to kick along to the beat and someone will come and dance with you.

 

2 thoughts on “Mr. Roboto

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About Timmy Crawford

I reside in lovely Bend, Oregon with my wife and two girls, and of course the requisite two mutts. By day I am an Automattician, and by night and on the weekends... I keep it real.