I have a Sunday evening ritual which evolves right around the first dreamy thoughts of spring. I first check my blackberry (that's a modern day implement of slavery to you freemen) to see what my afternoons look like for the coming week.. Hm, Thursday or Friday look good- couple of things but they are... castable.... Then pull up weather.com (don't you love the access to fishing info) and Friday shows 50% chance of rain, but Thursday, cloudy 10% chance and 63 degrees. Mmmm, what sweet pickins. So I unload my booty from the recent Cabalas run and stow my tiny little flies (see note to self from last entry) and my 7x tippet and flat rock pool is already in sight, now I just have to keep my nose to the stone for the next four days and I'm in water.
The mission statement of Trout Magic really captures it all. Is fishing that important? No, but for those of us who have chipped the hard baked clay from our souls to find our spiritual moorings to this beautiful earth on which we walk with all of her lovely variety and thrilling wild life, the man made pursuits of modern man seem so... foolish. Yes, many people have their escapes. Many paint their faces on Sunday and scream their lungs out with 100,000 of their closest friends as gridiron monsters crash into each other in true gladiator fashion, and others haunt the man made valley's in search of that perfect swing and that elusive par, I hear the siren call of these "pursuits". But these are not by brethren, nor are the decaled, big motor, yankem into the boat, competitive fisherman. No, there are only a relative handful who have chipped away the last shards of adam's sweat induced clay and found the real peace, the real tranquility which a $1,000 rod and all the orvis gear in the world can't buy. I'm more akin to the little asian guys I saw sitting on a bucket drowning worms in the lake, hoping to fill that bucket with dinner. They fish out of necessity, to feed their bellies. I fish out of necessity to feed my soul.
Tuesday, February 24, 2009
Sunday, February 15, 2009
The Old Haunts in Winter
The scriptures say, that by your thoughts you shall know them.... That certainly holds true for a fisherman. Even in winter, it's never far from my thoughts. As luck would have it, a few short days after the tactical blunder I was at a community event and ran into an old fishing buddy from my days working for the County. Although he too had long since left that employ for greener pastures and "they just aint as much stress in my job now as that other'n" meaning, he can laze around more and fish frequently, who can blame such a man? Anyway, after pleasantries and sharing that I'd just run into his bosom fishing buddy Charlie just a few weeks earlier at a corning event (truly, the fish gods have been active in my life this winter- must be the Alaska residue, what say ye?) I shared my latest outing to upper lost cove and begged for info- "ol bro, remember that I used to be your big boss and instead of ratting you out to your supervisor when you and charlie were lazing around, I'd sit on a bucket and we'd talk fishin' for hours on end, all the time on the clock, now please, man, tell me where you fish in the winter."
He scratched his scruffy beard for a minute and I could sense his hesitation. "I was actually thinkin on fishing tomorrow you know."
"oh yah, where?"
"you can always go odor to the davidson, but them fish is seen it all and that aint that fun"
"yah, yah, I've been there, those fish are obnoxiously finicky...."
"you ever been over there to the church?"
"You mean on the watagua?"
"Yah"
"Yes, I have been there"
"That's a good one"
My thoughts "what the??? that's delayed harvest man, they quit stocking that in October you mean to tell me there's fish carrying over the winter???"
"Hmmm"
"I like south mountain to, caught a few nice ones there the other week."
"Really, hmmm, so south mountain, yeah, I think I've heard of it...."
"ok man, you looking good, take care I'll see you again in 10 years when the fish gods weave our paths back together."
So, with new intel, I'm thinking, when, when, when can I go.... So on Tuesday morning I rise early and dress for another work day. I drop the kids off at their schools and then head.... back to the house. Quickly I throw my stuff in the trunk. I've got a 3:30 meeting I can't miss, but everything this morning can be ...cast aside, no one will ever know I went fishing. A wisper of gui
lt drifts across my mind- man this must be how it feels to have an affair- but my mistress is pure and my guilt insincere.....hehehheee. and I'm off.
It's a beautiful day in February, one of those day's when April pokes it's head into winter just to tease you're casting wrist. Temp about 70, little cloud cover. I hit my old haunt, right there at the ranger house, fish that section away from the road that takes a little more effort to get to. Tuesday, not a soul in sight, this is MY Park, I own this stream! The little rod feels so sweet and natural in my hands. I tie on a dry and start working the sides, thinking, it's browns that have survived. The first few runs I don't raise or see anything. Then as I get up to the pool right at the house, a dark shadow darts from in front of my foot, a brown, a skittish little brown who's survived the winter- my buddy was right.
I can't locate or bring him back up, so I ease to the next hole. And what to my wondering eyes should appear, but a big fat rainbow and eight tiny rain deer! The bo was big, sharking around in the deep pool (I'm naming this pool Big Gourge). I tried the dry, too deep they weren't coming up. I tied on a brasshead nymph, a look, a look, come on! look and leave. Tie on a streamer and some split shots, drop him way down there on the bottom. Let him sit. Then twitch, twitch... .nothing, just turn away and head to the back of the pool! Dang it.... Two more fly's five different angles, nada. Who was I kidding, he'd seen me, and wasn't still here because he could be easily fooled.
I scaled the rocks to the next run. A slow flat fairly shallow but big run just below the big pool I have fondly named, "Christian's pool" from last fall. Here I spy the beauties, about 8 of them moving around. I sit patiently and watch... a rise- oh yeah, a rise. Then another! We're in busines boys. Tie on the tiniest little mosquito I've got and still it looks like a styrophome cup floating on that still water! Drat, my first cast lines right on their heads and off they scatter. Ok, rest this one, go check out Christian's pool. One lone fish marks my arrival by shooting from the tail end and out of sight. No visible fish in the pool. I give it a wide berth and work up to the head making a few gentle casts into the riffles feeding the pool. Nothing.
Back to the lower pool (I'm naming this one, Slick Rock). Sit and read the scriptures for a while and eat an orange and dose off sitting in the loop of a root that holds my against t
he hill, and wonder, isn't this enough? In February, early February to sit in the April sunshine at slick rock pool and watch a few trout rising opposite me. One in no more than 12" of water right on the main flat rock that makes up the middle of the pool.... Eventually, no, it's not enough. So I tie on a greenbody mayfly, tiniest thing I've got (note to self, buy some more smaller fly's for these boys on slick rock). I make a good cast way up and let it smoothly drift down to to below the rock where they are lounging, but drat, the slow current I'm across get's me drag and a line correction causes too much disturbance--- got get a better spot. So I painfully ease out into the water (I'd been standing by the bank casting across to the opposite bank). Slowly, slowly easing across the big slick rock until I can reach the current with my rod tip. An easy cast and now a perfect drift right off the slick rock to the sweet spot.. and HERE HE COMES- a nice little brookie starts up to the fly, "YEAH YEAH YEAH" but just as he takes it, I raise the rod and pop, nada. Either too quick or he had a change of heart just as he got to it. Ok, three more casts, nada. I've learned from these fish that two or three looks is all they will give a fly. So I have to wade back where I've left my vest and tie on another one. A little emerger looking guy with a green body (note to self BUY MORE TINY FLYS). I ease back out to the same spot and wait a few minutes to let everything return to normal. Then a delicate cast and smooth drift. Just as the fly swirls off the slick rock- HERE HE COMES... wait wait, wait, DOH, another miss!!!
So, is that enough. April sunshine, wise wintered fish and two misses? It's already 2pm and I've got to make that 3:30,so yes, yes it is enough and although I have not pictures of fish to post for my snowbound western brethren, my heart soars, I've had one of those rare spring days in winter and ground hog be damned, SPRING is less than six weeks away!
He scratched his scruffy beard for a minute and I could sense his hesitation. "I was actually thinkin on fishing tomorrow you know."
"oh yah, where?"
"you can always go odor to the davidson, but them fish is seen it all and that aint that fun"
"yah, yah, I've been there, those fish are obnoxiously finicky...."
"you ever been over there to the church?"
"You mean on the watagua?"
"Yah"
"Yes, I have been there"
"That's a good one"
My thoughts "what the??? that's delayed harvest man, they quit stocking that in October you mean to tell me there's fish carrying over the winter???"
"Hmmm"
"I like south mountain to, caught a few nice ones there the other week."
"Really, hmmm, so south mountain, yeah, I think I've heard of it...."
"ok man, you looking good, take care I'll see you again in 10 years when the fish gods weave our paths back together."
So, with new intel, I'm thinking, when, when, when can I go.... So on Tuesday morning I rise early and dress for another work day. I drop the kids off at their schools and then head.... back to the house. Quickly I throw my stuff in the trunk. I've got a 3:30 meeting I can't miss, but everything this morning can be ...cast aside, no one will ever know I went fishing. A wisper of gui
lt drifts across my mind- man this must be how it feels to have an affair- but my mistress is pure and my guilt insincere.....hehehheee. and I'm off.It's a beautiful day in February, one of those day's when April pokes it's head into winter just to tease you're casting wrist. Temp about 70, little cloud cover. I hit my old haunt, right there at the ranger house, fish that section away from the road that takes a little more effort to get to. Tuesday, not a soul in sight, this is MY Park, I own this stream! The little rod feels so sweet and natural in my hands. I tie on a dry and start working the sides, thinking, it's browns that have survived. The first few runs I don't raise or see anything. Then as I get up to the pool right at the house, a dark shadow darts from in front of my foot, a brown, a skittish little brown who's survived the winter- my buddy was right.
I can't locate or bring him back up, so I ease to the next hole. And what to my wondering eyes should appear, but a big fat rainbow and eight tiny rain deer! The bo was big, sharking around in the deep pool (I'm naming this pool Big Gourge). I tried the dry, too deep they weren't coming up. I tied on a brasshead nymph, a look, a look, come on! look and leave. Tie on a streamer and some split shots, drop him way down there on the bottom. Let him sit. Then twitch, twitch... .nothing, just turn away and head to the back of the pool! Dang it.... Two more fly's five different angles, nada. Who was I kidding, he'd seen me, and wasn't still here because he could be easily fooled.
I scaled the rocks to the next run. A slow flat fairly shallow but big run just below the big pool I have fondly named, "Christian's pool" from last fall. Here I spy the beauties, about 8 of them moving around. I sit patiently and watch... a rise- oh yeah, a rise. Then another! We're in busines boys. Tie on the tiniest little mosquito I've got and still it looks like a styrophome cup floating on that still water! Drat, my first cast lines right on their heads and off they scatter. Ok, rest this one, go check out Christian's pool. One lone fish marks my arrival by shooting from the tail end and out of sight. No visible fish in the pool. I give it a wide berth and work up to the head making a few gentle casts into the riffles feeding the pool. Nothing.
Back to the lower pool (I'm naming this one, Slick Rock). Sit and read the scriptures for a while and eat an orange and dose off sitting in the loop of a root that holds my against t
he hill, and wonder, isn't this enough? In February, early February to sit in the April sunshine at slick rock pool and watch a few trout rising opposite me. One in no more than 12" of water right on the main flat rock that makes up the middle of the pool.... Eventually, no, it's not enough. So I tie on a greenbody mayfly, tiniest thing I've got (note to self, buy some more smaller fly's for these boys on slick rock). I make a good cast way up and let it smoothly drift down to to below the rock where they are lounging, but drat, the slow current I'm across get's me drag and a line correction causes too much disturbance--- got get a better spot. So I painfully ease out into the water (I'd been standing by the bank casting across to the opposite bank). Slowly, slowly easing across the big slick rock until I can reach the current with my rod tip. An easy cast and now a perfect drift right off the slick rock to the sweet spot.. and HERE HE COMES- a nice little brookie starts up to the fly, "YEAH YEAH YEAH" but just as he takes it, I raise the rod and pop, nada. Either too quick or he had a change of heart just as he got to it. Ok, three more casts, nada. I've learned from these fish that two or three looks is all they will give a fly. So I have to wade back where I've left my vest and tie on another one. A little emerger looking guy with a green body (note to self BUY MORE TINY FLYS). I ease back out to the same spot and wait a few minutes to let everything return to normal. Then a delicate cast and smooth drift. Just as the fly swirls off the slick rock- HERE HE COMES... wait wait, wait, DOH, another miss!!!So, is that enough. April sunshine, wise wintered fish and two misses? It's already 2pm and I've got to make that 3:30,so yes, yes it is enough and although I have not pictures of fish to post for my snowbound western brethren, my heart soars, I've had one of those rare spring days in winter and ground hog be damned, SPRING is less than six weeks away!
On the happy ride back to reality I have a glimpse of of my future, a glimpse of my pipe dream nestled in some remote valley of some unknown mountain range in a western state over looking a trout stream let's just call, dry creek! Yep boys, this here is the Govna's Mansion and the Govn'a is holding court!
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