After My Fishing Expedition, Flyovers Beware!!

Raymond Ziemkowski
May – June 2023 • Vol 4, No 4

I was born and grew up in Montana. After living much of my adult life in the Los Angeles area, I recently retired and moved back to remote Montana. I am often asked what life is like on the mountain, and if I miss California.

Well, my favorite response is, I can get up in the morning and fly fish in the Yellowstone River from my front porch! What could be better than that?

And on a clear sunny morning, I can see the splash of the fish jumping in the river. Never mind that my porch and Paradise Valley mountainside home is three miles away from the Yellowstone River, as the crow flies, and 1100 feet above the valley floor!

Now, if you are not familiar with fly fishing, the idea is to whip your pole and line forward, and just before the line is about to fall on the ground, you whip it back behind your head.   Letting out some more line in the process. And when it is about to fall on the ground behind you, you whip it again in front of you, letting out more line again.

You keep repeating that, until you have just enough line out to land the fly at the end of the line exactly where you want it to land on the river surface where the fish might be.

Well, as you might imagine, with three miles between my front porch and the Yellowstone River, that is a lot of fishing line to reel out and to keep track of and keep in the air, all while whipping it back and forth to get that fly just where you want it to land on the river.

The other day as I was looking up in the sky and following the lines path behind my head to the right, I saw in my peripheral vision, off to the left, the end of a chemtrail that was just about to disappear.

Without thinking, I whipped my fishing pole forward and back two times, letting out more line and changing the direction to the left. I then whipped the pole as hard as I could toward the chemtrail and caught the tail end of it. The leader wrapped around the chemtrail and held fast, so I started to reel it in.

What I didn’t consider, was that the chemtrail was still attached to the jet at the other end. The chemtrail, being pulled from both ends simultaneously, was quickly being pulled tighter and tighter, like a super stretched bungy cord.

It became thinner and tighter and thinner and tighter, until I realized that I didn’t have a fish but had caught a jet on the other end of the line!

Well, it took me nearly half a day to reel that jet in, until it was about three football fields from my porch. But just when I began to think about how I would get the jet into my net, it got away.

I’m not sure if the line broke or the jet just let go because he was low on fuel. But off it went, making a hard right in the direction of California. That’s where, I hear, there is a chemtrail operation at the China Lake Naval Base.

After that pilot tells his buddies about almost being caught, such as he nearly was, I don’t expect any chemtrails over Paradise Valley any more. And I sure won’t miss them!

All those hours reeling in that jet left me reel-ly hungry. Really! And fortunately for me, my wife, who was making gluten-free blueberry pancakes for breakfast, just kept stacking them up all day. So, the rest of the afternoon I feasted on blueberry pancakes while appreciating the view of the Paradise Valley and the Yellow-stone River and thinking about that catch that got away.

Oh…. I’m also thinking that I might get myself a bigger reel for my fishing pole, just in case any more spy balloons pass over Montana. If those guys in Washington had half a cent of sense, they would put a bounty on those balloo