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Hopefully, you recognize this as the legendary cheat code for the game ‘Contra’ on the original Nintendo system. If this code doesn’t ring a bell, that’s okay.

Here’s the background:

The video game Contra arrived just as game systems began gaining strongholds in the homes of most Americans in the late ’80s. The code sequence eluded to in the post title, once entered into the game, gave the player 30 lives (kind of a big deal). With the code, the impossible became, possible. Things that were previously hard, became easy.

‘But bruh, this is supposed to be about fishing’.

And it is my friend, but telling a story by using the mindless type of drivel normally found in a fishing blog post, makes me feel dead inside. Do you really want to read another dumpster fire of tired fishing analogies and kitschy fly fishing terms posing as meaningful writing? Me neither. You will find no mention of ‘gin clear water’ here and I won’t, through gross misuse, be pissing off any spey guys by further dragging the phrase ‘the tug is the drug’ through more mud, even though it’s already a goner.

To be honest, I’m probably just as guilty of these offenses as the next guy, but not today my friend, not today. No, today I’m making the connection between fly fishing and a cheat code from a 1980s video game. Yeah, I have standards.

This process began over my reservations for the use of the word ‘epic’ when describing how good the fishing was or how well a fishing trip had gone. Epic is a powerful word, so hearing people using it to describe fishing that was only good or very good, to me, seemed a touch misleading. I am by no means a member of the adjective police, but I do believe that we, as anglers, should be civil and provide accurate descriptions of our fishing experiences.

At the same time, I admit that this was whimsical thinking. Nobody really gives, or should give, a hoot about how one person thinks fishing experiences should be described. There is no universal rating scale available to anglers to help properly put their fishing experiences into context. Plus, we’re all out here trying to have fun, so if we have a different way of rating our fun, so be it.

Having thoroughly fleshed out my concerns for the word ‘epic’, I was able to set my apprehensions aside and I introduced it into my fishing lexicon. I reserved its use for only the best of fishing experiences. But shortly after the official launch of the word ‘epic’ into my vernacular, I began to have fishing trips, in my favorite place in the world to fish, that were, well for lack of a better phrase, beyond epic.

So, now what? I had just become comfortable using the word epic and then things had to go and get beyond epic. A very difficult thing to wrap one’s head around. What is beyond epic? What do you call it when the fishing cannot literally be better and it seems like you’re using some sort of cheat code?

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I would be selling myself short if I had you believe that getting hyper-dialed in to a fishing spot could be as simple as entering a cheat code when you know otherwise. Endless nights on the water. Long grueling days immediately following the late nights, grinding through a day job, running on fumes. All the obsessing over tidal coefficients. Rewiring a trolling motor to handle the high amp draws required to stay in the ‘groove’ during heavy currents without melting wires. Figuring out a simple fly pattern that could withstand an all-out assault and still look good. All those things. Those are the things that really unlock the game. The result of all of that work? It feels a lot like you’ve entered a cheat code. So when considering the proper nomenclature for an experience that is beyond epic, Contra is a no-brainer.

If beginning to use the word ‘epic’ was such a struggle for me, how the hell would I come to terms with using/launching Contra? Super good question that I didn’t have an answer for, so I tabled the matter for awhile.

The contra matter remained tabled on a night when Earl Noble and Paul Keener, two experienced fly anglers, joined me on a 5 hour trip. I knew, based on a few recent trips and the type of tide we were getting that night, that the possibility of a memorable night existed. The night started well, as we experienced, what I would call, very good fishing to strong. Despite forfeiting a few snook to the jaws of some uber-aggressive dolphins, and losing some time while dodging a few stray storm cells, we were methodically bringing fish to the skiff.

There are only a precious few spots in the ‘Alley that have the capacity to produce transcendent experiences. When that time arrives, the fish generally let you know with a distinctive tell. So when we returned to a light that just 30 minutes earlier wasn’t ready, I saw all I needed to see. I smiled, remained low key, and slid us into the groove. And then Paul and Earl went to work.

They began taking turns on the bow, switching positions after every fish. For over two hours, Earl and Paul remained in perpetual motion, switching from front to back. To anyone who may have watched us from afar, it probably appeared that we were engaged in a very spirited and endless game of Chinese fire drill. For those two plus hours we stayed in that groove, only sliding the Maverick down current to reach more and more and still more snook. When it was time to head back in, we left fish behind that were still eating flies.

The visuals from that night were staggering. One of the eats that I witnessed that night, it was, um, well… OMG. Paul and Earl had themselves a night. I remember labeling the night epic or beyond epic as we motored back to the launch. Now, I’m comfortable calling it Contra. Once the boat was on the trailer, we lingered, basking in the glow of our fishing high that still hadn’t worn off. When we went our separate ways, I left with the satisfaction of having witnessed two anglers reach fishing Contra, in one of the most legendary fishing destinations.