The stream’s last defense was the thick alders that lined it, so thick that I doubt thorn bushes could have done much better at all to keep us out. The Lost Boys had told me no waders, you’ll destroy them in there in two minutes. I left my waders behind but questioned it of course, but now I could see, I could confirm. Pushing though the undergrowth, I felt a stinging on the back of my left calf, and then the same on my right thigh as alder branches that were intertwined better than the fibers in a rope held me back as I tried to push through. They grabbed fly rods, slashed at faces, pulled hats from heads, but in the end the will of the fly fishermen was more than they could hold back, and we stood at the water’s edge.
- Tags: 3wt, Adirondack brook trout, adirondacks, beaver meadow, black flies, bluegill on the fly, Brook trout, Camp Sagamore, catch and release, fish bum, fish stories, fishing lessons, fishing memories, fly fishing, Fly Fishing Adventure, glass is not dead, in search of, life experience, life lessons, north country, small stream fly fishing, trout, Trout bum, trout power, trout season, trout stream, wild brook trout, wild trout, zen and the river
We never got run out, and I have to believe that whoever owned the property knew people fished there all the time by the beaten dirt path from the road down the steep incline leading into the bottom of a deep bowl full of water. I’d never do it today, because I now have a respect for other people’s property and an equal fear of being a father who would have to explain to my children after being picked up at the police station that they should do as I say, not as I do. It seems that I’ve grown responsible, dare I say slightly wiser as I’ve gotten older. All be it with an apparent lack of adventure that can accompany the two if allowed. I’m not saying I’m not adventurous anymore, just that when I choose my adventures, they’re more based on possible outcomes these days than they used to be.
- Tags: balance in life, Bass, bass fishing, Bass on the fly, bronzeback, creek, creek chub, farmpond, fish bum, fishing, fishing lessons, fishing memories, fishing photos, fishing stories, Florida, fly fishing, Fly Fishing Adventure, hair bands, in search of, Largemouth bass, life experience, life lessons, looking back, mental health, no fishing, no trespassing, purposefully lost, small stream fly fishing, smallmouth bass, streamer junkie
It ended up being a beautiful day. The sun would hide behind clouds and then the clouds would move past and you could almost hear the temperature rise a degree or two before more moved in and you could feel the drop. When the temperatures are hovering right between those two numbers where one means snow and the other means rain, yet neither is happening, I seem to notice the rises and falls of the thermometer with more awareness. Of course it might just be that I’m enjoying feeling the sun on my face only because I’m hoping it doesn’t warm up enough to feel a freezing rain on it instead.
I was pretty sure my brother had caught a couple certified pigs from this stretch a couple years ago, or at least this general area. He’d shown me pictures, huge twenty-plus inch fat browns, and assured me he’d released them, but never did come clean as to where he actually was. Just somewhere on the creek, and my suspicions told me somewhere around here, simply because he was living and working close by at the time. Of course, I wouldn’t have put it past him to rent a house and get a job close to a specific part of the creek just to throw everyone off as to where he was fishing. Nope, I wouldn’t put it past him at all. I never pressured him for the spot and he never volunteered it.
- Tags: bronzeback, Brown Trout, catch and release, chance, creek, creek chub, Dryfly tying, epiphanies, fall fish, fish bum, fish stories, fishing lessons, fishing memories, fly fishing lessons, fly tying, flyfishing, glass is not dead, in search of, Jeep, learning to fly fish, life experience, life lessons, oriskany creek, purposefully lost, XJ, zen and the river