Drums Along the Mohawk
I had a history teacher in high school who would always reference that movie. I've still yet to see it. I'm so uncultured. But it's hard not to think about the rich colonial history of the Hudson-Mohawk river basins when you're standing knee-deep in them.
Granted, the 18th century Mohawk Delta had little resemblance to today's, what with all the dams, bridges, roads and buildings...still, as I waded out onto the shale bedrock flats, alone but for a few geese and gulls, it was a nice moment.
That moment was shattered as I approached the first hole, and immediately felt a twinge of panic run through my body as an apparent sea-monster was headed at me, about to devour me whole. OK, it wasn't quite that dramatic, but I will admit to feeling a bit of a fight-or-flight primordial reaction upon seeing the back and fins of a massive (I mean MASSIVE...we're talking likely approaching 4') carp, and not realizing exactly what it was at first.
As soon as my heart calmed back down, I did something foolish and made a couple casts to it with my 5/6 Cortland travel rod...luckily the fish was not as reckless as I, and my outfit remains in one piece.
Back to the task at hand - Smallmouth. Have you ever worked way too hard to get to a spot, only to realize later that it was completely accessible via another, easier route? You know you have. Tuesday was one of those days.
Exhausted and covered in spiderwebs, I finally set up beside a nice run and drifted/swung an olive beadhead bugger through a few times. Couldn't believe nothing was hitting. I mean, it looked like perfect water. But all I got was rock and weeds. I was getting frustrated, when I suddenly realized that what I thought was the bottom was indeed fish the whole time. Thankfully I had sharpened my hook, otherwise I never would have known, seeing as I wasn't setting it when I felt "bottom."
So, inevitably, the code was cracked, fish were won over, and even in all my stink and sweat, I was a happy boy once again. Nothing big, mostly under 10", but who's gonna complain about catching fish in the center of the city?
So that's what I've been doing this week. Supposed to meet Alex tonight for some more of the same...hopefully even get into some carp (am I ready for this?). Then for the weekend it's back to the Adirondacks for even more smallies. Apparently last weekend was the start of a real warmwater kick, and I'll be happy to ride the wave until the next target comes along.
Speaking of targets, Mr. DayTripper himself is going to be spending quite a bit of time in my neck of the woods...er...something. OK, so he probably won't be the oldest freshman on campus...but for a minute, I had visions of Rodney Dangerfield on the dive team...and immediately regretted it. Congratulations Alex, don't party too hard.
Granted, the 18th century Mohawk Delta had little resemblance to today's, what with all the dams, bridges, roads and buildings...still, as I waded out onto the shale bedrock flats, alone but for a few geese and gulls, it was a nice moment.
That moment was shattered as I approached the first hole, and immediately felt a twinge of panic run through my body as an apparent sea-monster was headed at me, about to devour me whole. OK, it wasn't quite that dramatic, but I will admit to feeling a bit of a fight-or-flight primordial reaction upon seeing the back and fins of a massive (I mean MASSIVE...we're talking likely approaching 4') carp, and not realizing exactly what it was at first.
As soon as my heart calmed back down, I did something foolish and made a couple casts to it with my 5/6 Cortland travel rod...luckily the fish was not as reckless as I, and my outfit remains in one piece.
Back to the task at hand - Smallmouth. Have you ever worked way too hard to get to a spot, only to realize later that it was completely accessible via another, easier route? You know you have. Tuesday was one of those days.
Exhausted and covered in spiderwebs, I finally set up beside a nice run and drifted/swung an olive beadhead bugger through a few times. Couldn't believe nothing was hitting. I mean, it looked like perfect water. But all I got was rock and weeds. I was getting frustrated, when I suddenly realized that what I thought was the bottom was indeed fish the whole time. Thankfully I had sharpened my hook, otherwise I never would have known, seeing as I wasn't setting it when I felt "bottom."
So, inevitably, the code was cracked, fish were won over, and even in all my stink and sweat, I was a happy boy once again. Nothing big, mostly under 10", but who's gonna complain about catching fish in the center of the city?
So that's what I've been doing this week. Supposed to meet Alex tonight for some more of the same...hopefully even get into some carp (am I ready for this?). Then for the weekend it's back to the Adirondacks for even more smallies. Apparently last weekend was the start of a real warmwater kick, and I'll be happy to ride the wave until the next target comes along.
Speaking of targets, Mr. DayTripper himself is going to be spending quite a bit of time in my neck of the woods...er...something. OK, so he probably won't be the oldest freshman on campus...but for a minute, I had visions of Rodney Dangerfield on the dive team...and immediately regretted it. Congratulations Alex, don't party too hard.
Comments
Soon you'll be tying big giant double hook gaudy flies just to wind up losing them in the logs.
Have fun!