Sunday, May 22, 2011

My Confession

It wasn't supposed to go down the way it did today.

As always, I came home from church today in a good mood, making note of the sunny skies and an afternoon completely divorced from any pressing obligations.  It's the way life is meant to be lived, and if I had my druthers, every day would be a Sunday afternoon in late May.  I rounded up Doc, interrupting his meticulous landscaping, and with some gentle persuasion, suggested that the afternoon was meant for ignoring yard work.  Without so much as a threat of waterboarding or other "enhanced coercion," I soon found myself in the passenger seat of his big Dodge, on my way to my own personal paradise.

We arrived to find the Poudre running both swiftly and murky.  [INSERT SOUND OF WIND BEING TAKEN OUT OF MY SAILS HERE].  The realization that runoff season is beginning hit me like a ton of bricks.  With grudging acceptance and a healthy dose of futility, we nonetheless hunted for a stretch of water that was both fishable and promising.  In retrospect, the search was over, almost before it began.  Fighting my own instincts to come up with a plausible and persuasive argument to convince Doc to give it a whirl, I conceded that the water really didn't look too promising.  I decided that no immediate harm could come from putting off an experiment with high water fishing for another day.

Sensing my troubled soul [INSERT MELODRAMA HERE], Doc did what any good father would and came up with a counter offer.  "We could hit one of the bass ponds."  Doc is fortunate enough to have access to a bass pond or two, although he rarely fishes them.  Quite honestly, neither of us know the first thing about bass fishing.  

Here's where the confession comes into play.  I felt a strange sort of deja-vu, although it took me a few minutes to remember why.  I'd been in this very situation before.  The small boat, the smaller motor, the strange sensation of having a rod in my hand, yet not being entirely certain what to do with it - I'd been here before!  Suddenly it hit me.  I vaguely remembered an encounter with bait salesman just about this time last year, complete with promises of "bass crack" yielding undeniable success.  A vision of a rubber worm came rushing into my mind like the Poudre during runoff.  With almost no time to prepare myself either mentally or emotionally, I was fixin' to go bass fishing!

Forgive me father, for I have sinned [INSERT SOLEMN GREGORIAN CHANT HERE]OK, not really, but sort of.  I mean to cause no offense here, and I have nothing against bass fishing.  From my limited experience, it's fun. I don't even have anything against worms, rubber or otherwise.  I'm just a trout fisherman, that's all, and a stream fisherman even more so.  Even fishing for trout in stillwater just doesn't give me the same buzz. 

In the end, I put on a brave face and toyed very briefly with a rubber worm.  Still not "bass crack" by the way.  Being ill-equipped for a bass outing, Doc and I racked our brains for a minute, wondering aloud what we might have on hand that could serve as a tempting offering.  I did the best I could, pulling out two hoppers I tied a couple of months ago.

Lo and behold, the hoppers turned out to do the trick...sort of.  With all the talk of bass in this post, I should point out that I think only one bass was harmed during the making of this makeshift, comical affair.  A whopper it was most certainly not!  Doc even refused to pose for a picture with the little guy.  Instead, we caught what we believe to be a handful of crappies on my homemade hoppers,  which was highly encouraging and ego-boosting by the way.  Encouraging because they floated nicely on the surface, and ego-boosting because they actually drew the attention of a number of fish.  I have high hopes for late summer, when we'll undoubtedly have a rash of terrestrials on the Poudre.

In the end, Doc and I decided that we might just make a concerted effort to have another go at these "other fish" from time to time.  Maybe it's not so sinful after all.

I said a few "hail Mary's" just in case.

From the confession booth...
The Flywriter   




Confessions aren't always bad...they can bring some good fishing days!

e.m.b. said...

Ah! I enjoyed this post very much. Great writing! Going to the "other" side does kind of make you feel dirty...doesn't it ;) I caught some bass yesterday. I suppose I have some confessions of my own!


JEG said...

RD - Any luck finding the fly box?

e.m.b - Really glad you enjoyed it, and also glad I'm not alone in my transgressions. Thanks for stopping by.

Best to you both,

JDH said...

Good stuff Johnny! Would like to make it out to God's Country this summer to join you for a fishing trip, that is if you're willing to let an amateur tag along?!


No fly box...but some very nice replies! Where can I find your email address? I don't see it. I would love to try out a few of those PT cruisers you talked about!

JEG said...

Sorry RD. Here it is:

Send me an address where I can ship a few PTs!