That Charlie... I don't know what to do with him. It seems as the weather grew hotter, the more Charlie went carping on the fly. And... as the weather grew hotter, and the more Charlie went carping... the more carp he has captured - almost at will.
At times his reports can be excruciating. Twenty-two, twenty-four, twenty-six inch quality carp, that fight like there is no tomorrow. It's more than any inactive fly-fisher should have to bear.
I was doing perfectly fine sitting in the air-conditioned confines of the fly tying studio, if you will, tying up creations that I hope will serve the fly fisher for Blue River trout quite well. But... Charlie's dispatches kept coming. The dispatches, in form of modern day telegram's (email), were quite more than enough to whet my appetite for carp action on the fly. So, slowly I have found myself migrating away from the tying station to the banks of Rock Creek and those ever-so-addicting carp.
Now, my migration has, or is, coming at a cost. I certainly notice the glare-stares, along with the hands-on-hips, slow motion "you're so fired" head shakes from the boss at work, upon returning from a quickie to Rock Creek. Of course, I always have an excuse why I left work... but me think these excuses are running rather thin these days.
Then, there is Miss Carol. It's funny how love and fly-fishing can often times create a friction. Now, Miss Carol seems to have this dividing line between love and fishing with the fur and feather. I'm not so insensitive that I don't understand her position, but, for me, the two are synonymous. I love Miss Carol, but I also love fly-fishing. Quite often she finishes our conversations with "You fish too much", as she waltzes out of the conversation arena. Fish too much? If I've ever heard a more oxymoronic phrase, I don't know what it would be. There is no such thing as fish too much.
Perhaps I shouldn't cross any lines right now, particularly that line in the sand of Rock Creek that Miss Carol has drawn... as the metaphor she intended to be, and hope for some kind of just living life oil, that will calm all the friction.
As far as work... that's a different story. Today, sometime near what should have been considered a "lunch hour", I snuck away from the employment pool to dedicate thirty minutes to the creek hoping to catch a carp. However, all I would end up realizing is a feisty drum that would get in the way. Drum fight differently from carp. They'll actually hit the fly and then take off like a bat out of hell.
And when I returned to work... there was the boss with those hands on hips.
Here's a picture of my lowly drum and some of Charlie's recent carp.