I GET MY FIRST E-MAIL THE NEXT DAY, from a Manhattanite who wants to know what I'd like to do on a date. I write back and list fishing, mountain biking, riding on a roller coaster, and—as a joke—flying on a trapeze.

It's a reference to Trapeze School New York, a place where people with Barnum & Bailey envy can work on their aerial skills (or their approach-avoidance issues). I've never met anyone who honestly wanted to try it. This guy seems up for it, though, judging by his e-mail. And maybe finding out whether a guy can catch me flying through the air will be a good test of his worthiness.

"OK, sounds fun," I tell him.

"First, could I see a photo that shows a little more of you?" he writes back.

I take it he wants to check out the bod, so I send him a picture of me in a bikini on a beach in Costa Rica, holding a fishing rod. (How suggestive is that?)

Perhaps too suggestive. He never writes back, and I'm guessing it's not because he doesn't like fishing.

Next, a mountain biker drops a line and tells me to check out his profile page, which features a close-up of a gaping-mouthed striped bass where his own mug ought to be.

"Do you really think this will attract a woman?" I e-mail him.

"Doesn't that look like a moist (or very wet) and inviting pair of lips to you?" he replies. "If you look long enough, you may just start to develop affection for the cute little fishy!" (Ewww! Delete.)

I can't help but notice that several SingleAndActive bachelors post snapshots that Freud would have found intriguing. One dude shows himself in camouflage with a rifle and a fevered look; another offers a photo of a prairie dog wearing a wig.

The women are camera shy, too, but when they do post snapshots, they steer clear of animal stand-ins. A quick scroll-through reveals perky yogatistas, horsey chicks, funky boarder babes, and some serious adventure girls—the ripped types who roam the aisles of REI, saying things like "I'm so stoked! I'm going to Guam next week."

SingleAndActive males, meanwhile, aren't just men of few pixels; they're men of few words. Maybe they're so busy climbing in the Alps or running rivers in Colorado that they've lost communication skills. Or maybe they're just delusional.

"U look interesting . . . but I'm far away in India," writes one guy, who adds, absurdly, "Are u planning to be here soon?"

Next, I have an exchange with a med student in Nepal. "Your profile is superb and it is the thing that pulled me towards you!" he writes.

I respond—he's so sweet, how can I refuse?—and tell him that, during college, I spent a month living in a village in southern Nepal, studying meditation with a holy man. "You are my type!" he writes back. "I used to do simple meditation. Have you heard of the young man in Nepal who has been meditating in the forest for six months without food or drink?"

I suddenly picture myself in the Himalayan outback surrounded by yaks and a chanting, bony husband. I decide to stick a little closer to home.