A little dive into the past, the early days of Le Mouching — we had only existed for a few weeks, but we had already established our distinctive tone, setting ourselves apart from other fly fishing websites and blogs, which generally (at the time) only talked about leader length and the eternal dilemma: Nymph or Dry fly? We immediately understood that our place was different, and that fly fishing was not just a matter of technique but, above all, a state of mind! This is what we wrote on October 24, 2008, at 3:06 PM, to be precise!
Dear Monsieur Français.
I often read your magazine with great interest, and more especially your so elegantly illustrated section featuring stories told by your readers… I therefore take the liberty of writing to you, as I myself have a rather burlesque tale to share. Perhaps it will spark the imagination of one of your celebrated illustrators, Monsieur Oli Person or Monsieur Flechemuller.
My wife and I live in the Chalosse region, in Pomarez to be precise, and as you are surely aware, Chalosse is to foie gras what the Ardèche is to chestnuts, the Rouergue to aligot, or the camel to its Bedouin — inseparable from one another. But beyond the easy associations and received ideas that some will be quick to jump to, I wanted to tell you more precisely that Chalosse is to foie gras what Épernay is to Champagne, or Ketama to hashish — in other words, what the English call, not commonly but with distinction: a Must! So, my wife Robert and I live in this beautiful region of the Must, nestled between the Landes and the Basque Country, where ducks live in full bloom and serenity — and I say ducks, not geese, Monsieur Français, for to speak of goose foie gras here is like mentioning Blanquette de Limoux in Reims, or PSG in Marseille! You don’t want trouble? Then you don’t take that risk!
But let us return to our ducks. Our ducks, raised with love, on fine maize and other grains from the Gers or our neighbours in the Landes. Our ducks that roam freely through the countryside, under the beautiful South-Western sun, sheltered by the pine trees; our ducks that breathe the fresh air brought by the nearby Atlantic, or sometimes by the Pyrenees. Our ducks, whom we love, are our sons, our family. Among these ducks, there is one in particular who receives all of my wife Robert’s attention — his name is Saturnin. Every morning, Robert steps out into the yard to smoke his Gitane after his coffee and my little treat. There he lingers, dressed in the smock I bought him at the “Dames de France” in a lovely shade of petrol blue — what used to be called “Royal blue” or “Bleu de France”… And so, every morning Robert smokes his Gitane and takes out Kiki, our faithful dog, so he can do his business and frolic about in the countryside, much as we humans might stretch after a night’s sleep. Kiki is something of our child, for — as you may not know — Robert and I have been unable to have one, and this after more than thirty years of life together…
Our Kiki is just like us — a calm, loyal dog, fond of other animals, never complaining, never barking louder than necessary… always happy with the smallest walk, the slightest outing, playful, jumping onto our laps at every opportunity, always bright-eyed and tail wagging — our Kiki!
Until the day of Saint Narcisse’s feast, the village patron saint’s day, which is the occasion for our little village of Chalosse to gather together around a communal apéritif, then in the parish hall — or in the schoolyard of the sisters’ school when the weather allows — to come together again for the village lunch, featuring as a rule fine foie gras, followed by duck confit with sautéed potatoes cooked in fat (duck fat, mind you — not goose!), then a Basque cake, before making our way to the stadium where we play a friendly match against the Layanoux club.
We always bring our Kiki along! And one thing’s for sure — he loves rugby, our Kiki. He never misses a match, and even on television he settles onto his beanbag to watch the Top 14 as well as the Six Nations tournament!
That day, we had played a historic match — 32 to 7! We were standing outside the changing rooms waiting for the players to congratulate them, when Kiki — no doubt excited by the sound of studs on the tiled floor and the very particular smell of players after exertion — gave us the slip and bolted into the changing rooms. He came back out half an hour later, looking rather sheepish.
From that day on, our Kiki was no longer himself — he had lost his appetite, nothing amused him anymore. We even went to see Monsieur Fardillac in Ballentaur-les-Eaux, the very man who had cured Mademoiselle Lacroix’s shingles; he looked Kiki over and told us he couldn’t make head or tail of it. We were crestfallen.
Until the day Robert and I settled onto the sofa to watch the match between Biarritz and Bourgoin-Jallieu on the telly — Kiki on his beanbag, as usual following the match with interest, and even barking several times to celebrate Biarritz’s victory! Barely had the final whistle blown when our Kiki leapt into the air, barked his head off, and ran around in every direction! We had our Kiki back!!
What had happened? We have no idea. But the moment we opened the yard gate, Kiki shot off like a rocket towards the duck enclosure — Robert and I ran after him as best we could, but it was no use, there was no stopping him. He threw himself upon Saturnin, the head duck, and what we witnessed next needs no commentary whatsoever… and we shall say no more. No doubt Kiki suffered some kind of psychological shock, as we heard explained on Mireille Dumas’ programme the other evening. He may have exorcised something he experienced — or witnessed — in the men’s changing rooms at the club that match night… we would rather not know. What matters is that we have our Kiki back. His fire, his liveliness, that expressive look in his eye that says more in a single blink than many a human manages in a lengthy speech…
Yours sincerely, Francis Astoul, Robert Prigex, and the dog Kiki — breeders in Pomarez.
11:03
There you have it — we had set the tone for Le Mouching for years to come!