I called out for a killer I looked for a knife I drank from this river It ruined my life I saw him comin' at me Empty and so cold I never knew emotion Till he caught me in his fold Part III; Last Days It doesn't take much to change the entire mood, outlook, perception of a trip. We've all been on either side of the tracks at one time or another, the beneficiary or victim to a minor shift in events that starts gaining momentum, for better or worse. Averaging less than one fish per four angler-days, our once bright armor was starting to show the wear and tear of frustration. Sure, we were having fun. To this point, it was a very successful vacation. It's hard to complain whenever you can do what you love for an extended period. In terms of an overall angling experience however, we were rapidly approaching failure mode. Hitting morning thruway-rush-hour at Rochester, approaching Syracuse, and then turning north, I wondered how much gas I had left. By the time the first Exi
I'm depressed. I've spent the past six and a half months living in a fantasy dream world. Last night, it all came crashing down. For the first time since I broke out the gear this spring, I actually put all the fishing crap away...because for once, I honestly don't know when I'll make it out again. It's not away for the year. I hope to make a few trips a month still. But everything just got more complicated. Daylight hours are still waning, Default is closed for the season, and the chill will be turning the bass off if it hasn't already. Putting the gear away is like sifting through the leftovers of a failed relationship. It just doesn't seem right. This has easily been the best fishing year I've ever experienced. Diverse and successful. Fly fishing trips have seen Adirondack ponds and local lakes, trickle streams and Ontario tribs , and have brought to hand all manner of trout, bass and panfish . Trolling Ontario has brought salmon, steelhead
So, my truck was delivered to the my office around 4 pm on Tuesday. Took 'er for a spin, completed the paperwork, shook hands, and was on the Mohawk by 6. First time out in 2 weeks. Only had about an hour to fish before dark (damn you winter, I know you're coming). Thankfully, as soon as I stepped off the bank, I was hooked up. Managed about 20 smallies with 3 of decent size (12-14"). All on a cone-head natural/tan bunny-strip . Unfortunately, Brian didn't do nearly as well. He threw all his usuals (bug nymphs, buggers), but couldn't buy a fish. I almost felt guilty. ( Almos t.) Now I have a dilemma. Heading to the Salmon River Sunday (gonna be a long day...), and should really tie at least something up. Tonight is pretty much my last chance. But...maybe I need to shake the rust off my casting arm....
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