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Though it was too late for last week's issue,
I finally made it to the water in earnest
last Sunday.
It was mid-afternoon before we left. My friend,
the Old Fella, and my son boarded the boat and
arrived at Grande Avoille Cove about three o'clock.
My compatriots were fishing bait. I rigged up my
favorite bluegill fly, the Jitterbee, under an
indicator on my eight-and-a-half foot Rapidan.
Water levels still were a little low, but much
better than last time I had made a scouting
trip to the lake. But I only motored the boat
half as far into the cove as usual, and we
began fishing a bit nearer the entrance than
I usually like.
The bite was dismal at first, but we managed a
few small bream. There's a small canal running
off the south of the cove I named after my girl
because it's her favorite place in the whole
basin. I normally start fishing about there,
and sure enough, when we got to that area things
improved remarkably.
My son, who's twelve, caught more fish on this
trip than any previous one. I tried to negotiate
down the canal, but the big boat wouldn't make
it in the shallows there, especially with three
persons aboard. We found a couple spots where
the chinquapins, or redears, were ganged up and
the three of us took turns pulling them out. Of
course, the Old Fella and I made sure we were
busy checking our bait or Jitterbee so that the
youngster would get in a few extra turns. The
chinquapin were big and feisty, mixed in with
a few goggle-eye (warmouth) and red-breasted
bream thick as a Stephen King paperback.
The Jitterbee, originated by Randy Leonpacher,
is my favorite warmwater fly of all. I started
off with red and black but the 'gills seemed
less than enthused. I switched to chartreuse
and black and this was welcomed with tip-bending
vigor. We also landed two catfish, and about
four small bass.
Oh, we had our share of toils, too. We laughed
in bemused frustration at them. I laughed
through grinding teeth when a missed strike
brought leader, indicator, Jitterbee and a
couple feet of line twirling around the rod
tip, wrapping inside and outside of itself,
in a convoluted mess that took me twenty
minutes to disentangle. The Old Fella and
boy laughed with heads shaking as they worked
loose two snarled lines that kissed upon a
mutual swing backward for the cast.
It was our first outing of the spring, and a
fantastic one. When the sun was getting low
in the sky, I found the only hole of deep
water in the cove, at the mouth of Sawmill
Bayou, throttled hard to get the boat on
plane and departed. We bumped a log pretty
hard on the way out, but there was no damage.
That log had never been there before, but that's
the way it is in the basin: Always changing. We
got home just before dark, satisfied and tired.
It was a good trip. Despite the weariness, the
recharge of the soul had begun.
I went back Monday and Wednesday, but the
bite was much slower due to a storm front
having passed through, with strong south
winds that actually brought water levels
higher.
Now, the weatherman is predicting a cold front
for Friday. Figures. ~ Roger
It's out! And available now! You can be one of the
first to own a copy of Roger's book. Native Waters: A
Few Moments in a Small Wooden Boat
Order it now from
www.iuniverse.com, Amazon.com,
or Barnes & Noble.com.
Roger will also be giving away three autographed copies to
readers. Stay tuned, for an announcement on the Bulletin
Board on that soon.
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