A few years ago my eldest son, Gondolpho, eloped with a gorilla (female, of course - nothing strange about Gondolpho), and in a pseudo last will and testament, written in Sanskrit, he bequeathed me his basement abode, a room I had coveted for many years. A perfect male sanctuary wherein I could condense my hobbies and display my trophies; a room of retreat from the aerobic-Zen spouse and the four remaining punk-rock offspring of our union.

Shortly after the probate proceedings (mock, of course, Gondolpho is alive and well and living in a tree in Borneo) I drained the waterbed, torched the furniture and clothing which were twice rejected by Goodwill, and gave the 9x11 - foot chamber two coats of germicidal latex paint.

A home-brew tying bench with a cork inlay top was installed against the west wall. Shelves over the bench now house myriad glass jars of feather and fur. An heirloom desk with my vintage Underwood, circa 1937, occupies the north wall, along with a hand-me-down stereo (the kids said it lacked soul) and my Spike Jones records. My teddy bear collection is ensconced on a wide, deeply-shelved bookcase on the south side, while the east wall has double-mirrored closet doors (along with a closet) to house my precious rods and fishing paraphernalia.

The door to my retreat opens from the south, making the north wall the focal point of the room. Here I would display my fishing trophies, if I had any. Never having caught anything large enough to mount or fillet, my creative juices led me to assemble instead a collection of the most unusual items I ever caught on a fly - with, for the sake of authenticity, the guilty fly still attached. Reading from left to right, top to bottom, my trophies include:

- A montage of oak, alder, willow and aspen leaves in a full spectrum of colors, interspersed with green and brown twigs from every imaginable stream-bordering bush, and some you couldn't possibly imagine. Just off center, suspended from a gooseberry twig, is an ornate western meadow fritillary butterfly (Boloria epithere) hooked firmly through the genitalia by a Fanwing Coachman it intended to mate with in flight. My subsequent forward cast put a permanent chill on any future amatory pursuits.

- A lavender polka-dotted bikini bottom, - size 12, caught in a soft-running, deep pool of the North Platte near the A-Bar-A dude ranch on the Wyoming side. It took a Rat-Faced McDougal through the left cheek. Fortunately, it was unoccupied at the moment of capture.

- A three-inch square of cotton plaid from the shirt of Lee Wulff, who was fishing 50 feet downwind and upstream of me on the Henry's Fork of the Snake. A Pale Morning Dun and a 15 knot wind did him in.

- A plump kosher dill pickle - neatly speared by a Goofus Bug from a picnic table abutting the Roaring Fork near Carbondale, Colorado. The startled diners beat a hasty retreat in their Ford wagon, leaving me the rest of their feast; food-bearing"no-see-ums" were undoubtedly too much to cope with.

- A radio-controlled Sopwith Camel biplane. The British World War I fighter plane was in combat with a DeHaviland DH4 at the time, only to succumb to an Adams Spentwing in the murderous skies over Cherry Creek Reservoir. Its owner must have assumed it met with a watery grave.

- A "Dewey For President" button - caught on a non-partisan brown stonefly nymph on the Esopus River in New York.

- An eagle-feathered headband from a Crow warrior patrolling the banks of the Bighorn River in Montana. Caught in a constitutional squat above the high water mark, I hardly had time to pull up the waders, grab my rod, and beat the hastiest of retreats. My overpowering speed (adrenalin induced) and a dangling Red Fox Squirrel nymph neatly stripped him of his dignity.

- A lavender polka-dotted bikini bra, size 12, C-cup, impaled on a cress bug imitation while fishing Pennsylvania's famed Letort. Figure that one out if you can!

- Lastly, a man's gold ring with two brilliant diamonds in the center, inscribed as follows: "To Jimmy - With Undying Affection - International Brotherhood of Teamsters - 1967." Taken on a Zonker trolled behind pop gear and lead-core line at Deep Lake, Idaho.