Celebrating Fish

Most of us who angle have our favorite species to fish for.  In my case it is trout and carp.  However, if it's in the water I wish to pursue it.  It's a celebration of fish. 

Here are a few pictures from yesterday. 

 

 

 

 

 

Sometimes the smaller the fish, the prettier the fish.

 

 

 

 

Perch Plucking With A Goose

Today I did something I haven't done in a long time and it felt good.  Today, I went fly fishing for the perch.

Yesterday while getting blown away by the wind on Blue River fly fishing with my buddy Van, I commented to Van that I thought I would fish the pasture known as Forty Foot on the sea lane Rock Creek in pursuit of the carp Van has been telling me about.

However, the sun stayed hidden all day today behind a totally overcast sky and that's when I decided to leave the carp flies behind and grab the small and vividly colored flies that the little fellows so like.

 

I've noticed I am a totally different fly fisherman when pursuing the carp compared to pursuing the perch.  When seeking communication with the carp I become a stalker and hunter and carry a heavy conviction to successfully meet one of the grand ones.  However, when pursuing the perch I have none of the aforementioned tendencies and I carry only a state of relaxation, a peace with existence, and fond memories of my youth fishing alongside my grandfather.  My grandfather taught me to fish by introducing me to the perch.  To my grandfather... and the perch, I owe more than I can ever repay. 

 

Upon arriving at Forty Foot I was the sole human being, but I did have company in the form and fashion of one solitaire goose.  He was looking at me looking at him looking at me, or maybe I was looking at him while he was looking at me looking at him.  I'm not for sure... it gets kind of confusing where your staring at a goose. 

 

The goose seemed quite unconcerned about what I was doing and stayed around for a good bit until he took flight and flew directly over my head like a B-52 on a bombing mission.  Fortunately he didn't bomb me.

 

 

 

As in most cases, the perch today were more than willing and I think this is one reason they are simply fun.  Perch, whether it be the Long ear, Redbreast, Blue Gill, Red Ear, Rock Bass, or any of the others that make up the menagerie of the pan-fish community, always give as good as they get.  I'm not for sure if it's their curiosity or voracious appetites that cause them to absolutely inhale a bright colored or small imitation fly, but I have learned that we always need to make sure to use barb-less hooks or mash the barb completely down.  With perch, there is a high probability they will swallow our flies down deep. 

 

 

 

Today, the perch brought a little sunshine to a somewhat gloomy day. 

 

I am a fortunate man to live such a wonderful life through fly fishing.  I wish the goose would have stuck around a little longer.  

 



 

 



Socrates, Fly-Fishing, And Sitting

Socrates said, "I know that I know nothing."  Socrates didn't mean he didn't know anything, but rather that he didn't know anything with an absolute certainty.

After 45 years of fishing, I believe I can say the same as Socrates when it comes to this art - "I know that I know nothing." 

I believe that the trout will favor a Hare's Ear or Pheasant Tail Nymph offering.  But, whether they will indeed eat it, I often find that I know that I know nothing. 

I also believe when there is a strong wind to my back I can make a circle cast and my line and fly will go easily forward.  But, whether the fly lands on spot-on target, I know that I know nothing. 

Today on the creek I believed I could take a fly designed to capture the grand golden ones, and thus capture perch and bass.  The perch came forward, but, the bass did not - therefore I know that I know nothing.

Knowing I know that I know nothing is part of the lure and mystique of fly-fishing.  It is what keeps me returning to the water time after time.  It has become the most passionate part of a varied outdoor life, and quite honestly the one thing that keeps me from deteriorating into an enthusiastic-void piece of flesh and bones.

Sometimes just sitting on a rock by the creek is nice.  Sometimes sitting on a sandy shoal by the creek is nice.  It gives us a chance to soak up a panoramic frame of nature's view. 

Sometimes just sitting on a rock or sandy shoal gives us a chance to meet some of nature's children and marvel in the way they live.

Sometimes it nice to just let the rod rest while sitting on that rock or sandy shoal; look to the left or right and discover the vibrantly colored flower of a wild weed.

Sometimes it nice to just sit on a rock or sandy shoal and drink a cold beer, which I indeed did today. 

And, sometimes it's just nice to sit on a rock or sandy shoal and take that drink of beer and look up.  As you look up and the beer slides down you discover a baby blue sky with stretched cotton clouds - a sky void of utility lines, poles, or towers.  Just pure sky.

And as we sit on that rock or sandy shoal and slowly lower the cold beer from our lips as our eyes are fixed on the pure sky above... we realize that it's not important that we know that we know nothing.  It's not important because we will continue this quest called fly-fishing, on a continued discovery of closer connection with the outdoor world.

The grand golden ones swam by today, time after time, as I sit on the sandy shoal. 

What a blessed life I live.