My friend and former editor Steve Ellis called me an "old coot" the other day. He wrote to tell me he'd seen a recent photograph and was struck by the copious presence of gray in my elegantly coiffed locks and neatly trimmed chin whiskers. Old coot? And here I was thinking Bob Dylan penned the lyrics of "Forever Young" about me.

Likewise, a fishing guide with whom I recently shared a boat insisted upon helping me aboard and later physically assisting me when I disembarked. I know he meant well, and I graciously accepted his aid, but, golly, the man was only fiveyears my junior.

Such rude awakenings. Are my looks really that deceiving? I mean, I'm quite accustomed to being perceived as ugly, but ugly and old? It's downright depressing when one is reasonably healthy, very active, and a mere 55 years of age. Heck, I'm nowhere near dead, and here they are acting like I'm well into the burying stage.

Worse, I got a call from an outdoor television producer a couple of months ago. She asked me to join her and her crew down on North Florida's Chipola River, where I was to supply narration, commentary, and some voice-over material for a "look-back" documentary they were putting together.

I was excited at first. I hadn't appeared on video since the mid 1990s, when I was frankly told by an early morning talk show host in Columbus, Ga. that I possessed a face tailor-made for radio. I looked forward to once again appearing on camera. I meticulously attired myself in my most photogenic outdoor garb and drove south with great anticipation.

At the assigned meeting place, I was cordially greeted by the young videographer and her technical staff. I was bombarded with "Welcome Mr. Bobs," "How nice to meet you Mr. Kornegays," and "Would you like to rest a few minutes after your long drive." The drive was all of 57.3 miles. I counted.

They offered me sunscreen and insect repellent, pointing out that they were aware such topical applications were especially important for the very young and the very old. It wasn't difficultto figure out the category into which I fell. Next, they gave me bottled water, fortified with electrolytes, multi-vitamins, and possibly even a shot or two of Viagra.

Then I met Justin, the oncamera "talent" with whom I'd be working. Justin was in his early twenties, but looked like he'd have trouble passing inspection by a child-labor investigator.

Justin and I, with camera rolling, sat in a canoe and discussed life and times on the Chipola in the "Old Days." To me, that meant hunting, fishing, and camping in the 1970s and 80s, but he made it sound more like the turn of the last century. He even asked me about "living off the land" and being a sportsman back during "hard times."

"How old does this kid think I am?" I asked myself. "Fiftyfive or 105?"

Eventually, we were directed to pick up two prop rods and begin "fishing." Justin tied on his lure, and then the brat had the gall to take my line and tie mine on as well!

"See how close you can get to that log over there, Mr. Bob," he said. "Just take your time and flipit underhand. I know you can do it."

"Yeah, maybe," I muttered. "Right after another dose of my heart medicine, you little….."

He demonstrated the technique three times and then patronizingly clapped his hands and grinned as I easily and automatically executed the cast. All this with the camera churning and the crew smiling condescendingly.

This and similar goingson took place for a full 45 minutes, after which I was instructed to close the "shoot" with some sage ad-libs and reminiscences. By then, I'd had about enough and, TV show be hanged, with blatant sarcasm responded with, "Yes, I well recall 30,000 years ago when my cousin Darryl and I speared and butchered a mastodon right on this very riverbank. Ripped his heart out and ate it on the spot."

"Cut!" yelled the sweet young producer/director.

"Oh, too graphic?" I innocently asked.

"What the @#$%! is a mastodon?" queried my perplexed co-star.

"A big hairy elephant, kiddo," I grinned.

The old coot went home soon afterward, anxious to see if the show might one day air on one of his cable channels.

(Email Bob Kornegay at cletus@windstream.net)