Today, during the lunch hour, I stood high on the bank overlooking the pasture Charlie and I call Well Springs. To both my delight and amazement there were twenty-five to thirty carp sipping the surface. Most of the carp I saw were absolutely huge.
The problem in fishing for these creatures during lunch was not having any gear with me. Earlier in the morning I had traded the fair lass Miss Carol the schooner for her little brown pony, and therefore my gear was nowhere near.
However, two hours later I traded back and went directly to Well Springs. Upon arriving most of the sipping carp had left, but, there were still six to eight gently sipping the fallen spring time blossoms. Twenty feet from the edge of the creek I started duck walking. Ten feet from the edge of the creek I was on all fours, and at five feet I stayed on my knees taking a half rising casting posture.
I chose a non-weighted white San Juan Worm as a offering to the slurping carp. The wind was brutal at gusts of twenty and thirty miles per hour and it sent my offering everywhere except where I intended. On about the eighth or ninth attempt I had adjusted enough to get the fly into the sight of the carp and a youngster of about sixteen inches slurped the fly and took off like a bat out of hell.
It was fun, but, the fishing was over. The excitement of the moment sent the rest of the pack a-packing.
The problem in fishing for these creatures during lunch was not having any gear with me. Earlier in the morning I had traded the fair lass Miss Carol the schooner for her little brown pony, and therefore my gear was nowhere near.
However, two hours later I traded back and went directly to Well Springs. Upon arriving most of the sipping carp had left, but, there were still six to eight gently sipping the fallen spring time blossoms. Twenty feet from the edge of the creek I started duck walking. Ten feet from the edge of the creek I was on all fours, and at five feet I stayed on my knees taking a half rising casting posture.
I chose a non-weighted white San Juan Worm as a offering to the slurping carp. The wind was brutal at gusts of twenty and thirty miles per hour and it sent my offering everywhere except where I intended. On about the eighth or ninth attempt I had adjusted enough to get the fly into the sight of the carp and a youngster of about sixteen inches slurped the fly and took off like a bat out of hell.
It was fun, but, the fishing was over. The excitement of the moment sent the rest of the pack a-packing.
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