within an inch of the hat, but never quite in it. Filson Duckbill kept floating further and further away during this time. Finally I said to hell with it and waded in to get it. Water was up to my chest; hat was still just out of reach. Said to hell with it again and waded out farther. Water was up to my chin; hat was still just barely out of reach. Damn Lake water is cold in early May! Said to hell with it again and began swimming after hat. Cold water may have had something to do with decision. Canât swim in flooded hip boots like I used to be able to when I was 25. Gave up on hat and started struggling back to shore. Lost Cabelaâs IM-6 graphite spinning rod and Shimano Spirex reel somewhere about this time. Got back to where I could stand, but too Collapsed to hands and knees and crawled out sputtering. Quite a crowd of people on bank by then, most with cell phones. One guy said he was thinking about calling 911 if I went under. Laid flat on my back with feet in air to empty water out of hip boots. Shocked several ladies. Got up, walked nonchalantly back to truck and went home. Went on the internet and ordered new rod, new reel, and new Filson Duckbill cap. Didnât get blanked thoughâ caught one bass! Fished 6:30 pmâ7:00 pm.
As I said, all of us have some tough days on the water from time to time. But I think this last journal entry illustrates the true value of the Internet for the angler.
Spiders and Flies
Spring officially begins when Teresa and I hitch the long canoe trailer to the truck and drive off into the hill country of southwest Wisconsin in pursuit of sunfish. Bluegills, crappies, rock bass, pumpkinseed sunfish, and sometimes green sunfish are the usual targets on these trips, but we get enough surprises in the form of bass, trout, pike, or even the occasional muskellunge to keep us happy. Neither of us can resist âroad birdingâ as we drive along quiet country roads to the lake, veering first to one side and then the other as we point out favorites like indigo buntings, rose-breasted grosbeaks, and American goldfinches. Neighbors say they can tell itâs the Searocks rolling past by the sinuous trail of dust we leave behind as we corkscrew down the gravel byways. Teresa counters that a zigzag path was used successfully by our navy in WWII as a defense against submarines. It still works; we havenât had a single problem with a sub or a torpedo while on a fishing trip.
Upon reaching the lake Teresa takes her customary seat in the bow of the canoe while yours truly is demoted to a secondary role as guide/trolling-motor/fish-unhooker in the stern. Experience has taught me to wear a broad-brimmed Australian bush hat and a tough denim shirt while guiding fly fishers in a canoe. Hardly a day goes by without my getting ticked in the hat by the rubber-legged bluegill spiders that Teresa sends artfully across the still waters. Her targets are the bedding areas which in spring are constantly patrolled by protective panfish and bass; if I get in the way of her back-cast, thatâs my problem. Of course I wouldnât have it any other way. We both learned to fly fish on panfish and bass, and I still think itâs one of the best ways to introduce a beginner to the sport. Many seasons have come and gone since those days, but Teresa and I still get the same kick out of quality bluegill and bass fishing as we did when we were kids.
If bluegills and other sunfish commonly reached the twelve-to-fifteen-inch mark, we might give up trout entirely and spend the rest of our days in happy pursuit of these disc-shaped natives of the still ponds, river backwaters, and slow-moving streams. About the time when lilacs and flowering crabapples reach full bloom in Wisconsin, sunfish hit surface bugs and flies with more gusto than any other freshwater fish. Itâs common to see a hole in the water a yard long as they take the bug with a distinctive smack that sounds like over-amped
As I said, all of us have some tough days on the water from time to time. But I think this last journal entry illustrates the true value of the Internet for the angler.
Spiders and Flies
Spring officially begins when Teresa and I hitch the long canoe trailer to the truck and drive off into the hill country of southwest Wisconsin in pursuit of sunfish. Bluegills, crappies, rock bass, pumpkinseed sunfish, and sometimes green sunfish are the usual targets on these trips, but we get enough surprises in the form of bass, trout, pike, or even the occasional muskellunge to keep us happy. Neither of us can resist âroad birdingâ as we drive along quiet country roads to the lake, veering first to one side and then the other as we point out favorites like indigo buntings, rose-breasted grosbeaks, and American goldfinches. Neighbors say they can tell itâs the Searocks rolling past by the sinuous trail of dust we leave behind as we corkscrew down the gravel byways. Teresa counters that a zigzag path was used successfully by our navy in WWII as a defense against submarines. It still works; we havenât had a single problem with a sub or a torpedo while on a fishing trip.
Upon reaching the lake Teresa takes her customary seat in the bow of the canoe while yours truly is demoted to a secondary role as guide/trolling-motor/fish-unhooker in the stern. Experience has taught me to wear a broad-brimmed Australian bush hat and a tough denim shirt while guiding fly fishers in a canoe. Hardly a day goes by without my getting ticked in the hat by the rubber-legged bluegill spiders that Teresa sends artfully across the still waters. Her targets are the bedding areas which in spring are constantly patrolled by protective panfish and bass; if I get in the way of her back-cast, thatâs my problem. Of course I wouldnât have it any other way. We both learned to fly fish on panfish and bass, and I still think itâs one of the best ways to introduce a beginner to the sport. Many seasons have come and gone since those days, but Teresa and I still get the same kick out of quality bluegill and bass fishing as we did when we were kids.
If bluegills and other sunfish commonly reached the twelve-to-fifteen-inch mark, we might give up trout entirely and spend the rest of our days in happy pursuit of these disc-shaped natives of the still ponds, river backwaters, and slow-moving streams. About the time when lilacs and flowering crabapples reach full bloom in Wisconsin, sunfish hit surface bugs and flies with more gusto than any other freshwater fish. Itâs common to see a hole in the water a yard long as they take the bug with a distinctive smack that sounds like over-amped
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