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“Many men go fishing all of their lives without knowing that it is not fish they are after.” – Henry David Thoreau.
The above quotation resonated strongly with me last Friday evening.
My son and I visited an Eastern Shore pond for a crack at bluegills on the fly. I wanted him to experience the same exceptional bite I encountered on my prior trip across the bridge. That session resulted in too many 8-to-9-inch bluegills to accurately count.
I had paid attention to the wind forecast as always but only minutes before we departed, I saw the word “rain” in print. It said, “light rain” between 2:00 and 6:00 p.m.
Light rain is not an issue. Ever the optimists, we thought overcast skies and a little drizzle might help the bite. We left for the pond anyway with me leading the way in my truck and my son following me in his.
The drive east belied the forecast. The sky in my windshield was clear and sunny for the entire 75 miles.
But, as soon as we paddled from the launch, the sky darkened. Hammer handle pickerels were energized by the weather. They would not leave our flies alone. This pond is loaded with small picks but mysteriously, their parents are nowhere to be found. I have never caught a big pickerel in this location.
In fact, it was at least 45 minutes before we hooked our first bluegills. And when we did, they were not anxious to meet us. We had no catches on consecutive casts. It was one fish per spot and those spots required much searching. It was not a typical spring bluegill outing.
Then there was thunder – one long, loud roll. No lightening. Just the ominous sound of bad weather ahead. The rain fell a minute after the thunder. Not the light rain forecasted but buckets of rain all at once. It was an explosion of water from the clouds. Big heavy raindrops were leaving thousands of divots on the water.
I was as far from the launch as possible on this pond when the rain started. My son was closer. We each made beelines to the ramp. My son beat me there to find shelter in his truck’s cab. We were both drenched. We debated if we should leave. But the rain started to let up as quickly as it began. Clouds parted and the sun tied to peek out. There was even a rainbow:
P1050623A.jpg
So, back to our boats we went. The bluegill bite picked up after the rain. It was not great, but compared to the limited action before the storm, it was good. I also caught a yellow perch on a bluegill fly:
Here's what we were seeking:
Another:
image000000.jpg
And here’s one of those pesky picks still biting after the rain departed:
It destroyed my fly.
We stayed on the pond until dusk. It was damp, foggy and chilly as we packed up to leave. We were both shivering as we strapped our boats into our truck beds.
Just before we got into our vehicles to leave, my son said, “This trip was definitely worth the drive.” We were facing a 90-minute drive home. I was happy to hear him say that.
Clearly, he knows the meaning of Thoreau’s words. The unpredictability of the weather cannot ruin a fishing trip. Neither can tentative fish troubled by that weather. Instead, the attempt itself to trick a wild creature to eat an offering we created from fur and feathers is the source of our satisfaction. The opportunity to spend time among the beautiful settings where these fish live adds to that joy. Finally, what truly matters is sharing an evening on the water with another person who understands that the totality of the angling experience is much more important than the final fish count. It was a very good evening.
The above quotation resonated strongly with me last Friday evening.
My son and I visited an Eastern Shore pond for a crack at bluegills on the fly. I wanted him to experience the same exceptional bite I encountered on my prior trip across the bridge. That session resulted in too many 8-to-9-inch bluegills to accurately count.
I had paid attention to the wind forecast as always but only minutes before we departed, I saw the word “rain” in print. It said, “light rain” between 2:00 and 6:00 p.m.
Light rain is not an issue. Ever the optimists, we thought overcast skies and a little drizzle might help the bite. We left for the pond anyway with me leading the way in my truck and my son following me in his.
The drive east belied the forecast. The sky in my windshield was clear and sunny for the entire 75 miles.
But, as soon as we paddled from the launch, the sky darkened. Hammer handle pickerels were energized by the weather. They would not leave our flies alone. This pond is loaded with small picks but mysteriously, their parents are nowhere to be found. I have never caught a big pickerel in this location.
In fact, it was at least 45 minutes before we hooked our first bluegills. And when we did, they were not anxious to meet us. We had no catches on consecutive casts. It was one fish per spot and those spots required much searching. It was not a typical spring bluegill outing.
Then there was thunder – one long, loud roll. No lightening. Just the ominous sound of bad weather ahead. The rain fell a minute after the thunder. Not the light rain forecasted but buckets of rain all at once. It was an explosion of water from the clouds. Big heavy raindrops were leaving thousands of divots on the water.
I was as far from the launch as possible on this pond when the rain started. My son was closer. We each made beelines to the ramp. My son beat me there to find shelter in his truck’s cab. We were both drenched. We debated if we should leave. But the rain started to let up as quickly as it began. Clouds parted and the sun tied to peek out. There was even a rainbow:
P1050623A.jpg
So, back to our boats we went. The bluegill bite picked up after the rain. It was not great, but compared to the limited action before the storm, it was good. I also caught a yellow perch on a bluegill fly:
Here's what we were seeking:
Another:
image000000.jpg
And here’s one of those pesky picks still biting after the rain departed:
It destroyed my fly.
We stayed on the pond until dusk. It was damp, foggy and chilly as we packed up to leave. We were both shivering as we strapped our boats into our truck beds.
Just before we got into our vehicles to leave, my son said, “This trip was definitely worth the drive.” We were facing a 90-minute drive home. I was happy to hear him say that.
Clearly, he knows the meaning of Thoreau’s words. The unpredictability of the weather cannot ruin a fishing trip. Neither can tentative fish troubled by that weather. Instead, the attempt itself to trick a wild creature to eat an offering we created from fur and feathers is the source of our satisfaction. The opportunity to spend time among the beautiful settings where these fish live adds to that joy. Finally, what truly matters is sharing an evening on the water with another person who understands that the totality of the angling experience is much more important than the final fish count. It was a very good evening.
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