Balls Of Steels

It took us 5 long years for the second one to happen; in the middle of the most disappointing period of the scene as yet. It never crossed our mind to come up with the sequel but at one point in the crazy era, there looked to be some sort of demand. And when initially the future seemed almost bright when 70 or more people signed up, it is too good to be true. It was. This thing was cursed – from the beginning. And we, of all people, should’ve been able to see it coming – but for some funny reason we didn’t. We were never optimists – in fact The Organizer / The Kingpin is a true-blue realist from the land of capitalism & black gold. Still, in the end – we succumbed to the temptations.

Whilst the first one was held just as fly fishing in Malaysia was going thru a promising growth process and booming as it was supposed to, the second one was scrapped from the ruins of optimism and denial of the perpetrators. More the latter. It might be fruited in haste – on the realisation of founding such suitable premise for such occasion. And the good things ended there. Like Humpty on meth, plans & ideas went out of tune and crashed onto a hard surface – on daily basis. Once in while we thought, we saw something silver in the horizon – turned out it was just the hot mimetic poly-alloy sipping out fresh from the furnace of Skynet hell.

The original idea of “stillwater fly fishing” was to be different from all the other fly fishing events that’s been done before. The concept was to not be typical – ‘coz one thing for sure, the things that kill the sport are being monotonous & the inability to adapt. We thought with the event, we’d provide some space for the scene to evolve, (not to entirely change), but to have another channel of option to explore. We might mean well – but the timing was wrong. Worse, the audience was wrong.

Firstly, the t-shirts colour came in wrong – turned out ‘turquoise’ has many useless shades. Way deviated from the blue theme we had decided upon. Then Clutch Fly Rods pulled another joke up Lee Janik’s arse (again) and the rods ordered (and prepaid in full) meant for the event, didn’t arrive on time (in fact, even as we speak, the rods are still nowhere to be found). Later on the cost of boats has blown out of proportions from the hands that control the flow of waterways. And with all these kind of unnecessary budget bursts, you’d think paid fees from 70 plus people would sort that out. Oh, please don’t get me started on that. All I can say is, once you started asking for fees payment (after being notified 2 months prior), all kinds of low class-unprecedented-pathetic lame excuses-cum-lies were thrown to your face so fast that you won’t know what’s hit you.

You’ll see the true colors of people when you’re no longer beneficial to them.

I could pull an all-nighter here, like Ron Jeremy on Super Kamagra, talking about the collection of shits that’s happened. And then came the ‘cherry on top’; the water level of the assigned Cenderoh Lake has gone down the lowest in the last 3 years. And guess which area got affected worst? Yup! But these monkeys soldiered on. THESE MOTHERFUCKIN’ MONKEYS SOLDIERED ON!

I’d be lying if I say I didn’t witness traces of disappointment on each of the faces that day. There’s nothing worst for a stillwater fly fishermen, than a lake without water. But we didn’t lay down excuses to make it sweet for others to ponder. Each of them got adapted & get innovative. The Organizer & The Committee that got infected point-blank, woke up from the collected germs of the influenza, in between the ashes of mediocrity and came up with something unbelievable. The Complotants made their way around the difficulties and made the challenges unnoticed. Like a piece of pussy cake. One after another, the already-frail boats succumbed to their deathbed – blown away by the sheer strength of the freewill of each man. The men managed to avoid the curved ball, diligently & with flairs; in the middle of pouring rains, (and for some) 3000 km away from their rightful home.

In the end, all came out winners. But the actual winners reflect a fact – a truth exposed at the very best time. The Waghih Fly Rodders (or what’s left of it anyway) bagged the most. Then the Kuching Boys got their hands on a Echo Quickshot Glass rod & a Cortland 444 line. Can you see the pattern here? These are the troops of fly fishermen that’s stayed loyal to the discipline, keep promoting the sport, trying in their might to make it harmoniously celebrated, whilst at the same time hitting their local waters week-in week-out. And to make it more special, they do all these when the rest of the scene is dying; not even the untouchable KL gang could do anything about it (if they ever wanna). That’s a bloody fact!

At the end of the day, are all these compiled regrets? No. We may fucked a lot up with this one but we did one thing right; the event is almost sponsors-free. And I’m blessed with the sincerity shown by each and every one of these people. You would not want a better bunch of people to go thru this ordeal. I would fish with them anytime any day. No question. But to do another similar event and lauded it to the rest of the world? A BIG FUCKIN’ NO! That’s not gonna come soon enough you’d think the idea finally dies out.

From the bottom of my heart, I really wanna thank you guys for being there for each of us; The Organizer, The Committees, The 35 Complotants, The Fallen Comrades (Tim Nati, Nazrul, Nazim), The Bro’s, The Families, The Friends, The Sponsors (KLFS, Pure Fishing Malaysia, FTN), The Bastards, The Bitches, The Skeptics, The Big Fish, The Small Fish, The Retarded Remnants of Fly Fishing Malaysia. Remember, we managed to pull this out fine. Don’t you ever feel otherwise. We’re all winners, we’re all losers – in our own ways that the people outside may not know how to appreciate. Because we fly fish and fly fishing can’t go big. It will try to from time to time, but it’s always doomed to fail. It’s destined to stay dormant until it is forgotten and one day rise again. And when it does, there’ll be some who’re patient enough to wait ’til the end.


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