Last Saturday Bill Sankey and I took my canoe to Lake Lavon to try some fishing. It?s been hot, exceeding hot; mirage waves and grasshoppers and heat headaches hot. Baked in the sun and eggs frying on the sidewalk hot.
I?d heard the reports about Lavon being low, I?d even seen the notices that all boat ramps were closed. So I knew that it was bad. But nothing prepared me for the sight that appeared as we pulled into the Corp of Engineers Park to drop the canoe in the water. The boat ramp is a solid slab of concrete a good fifty yards long. It extends down into the water (or used to) far enough to allow boaters to back the trailer in and pick up boats without ever getting bogged in the lake bottom. The far end of the ramp was completely dry and so was the dirt that extended another twenty yard to the water?s edge. It was strangely like being in a desert while standing so close to the lake. There were rocks, strands of barbed wire, old pieces of trotline, all lain bare by the receding waterline. Stickups (trees long ago submerged when the lake was originally created) seeing the light of day for the first time in years. If a coyote had strolled by or a cactus had appeared it would not have felt out of place. Not the setting conducive to starting off a morning of fishing.
Then a mayfly darted by, then another and another and another. We were smack dab in the middle of a humongous mayfly hatch ? and it was a humongous hatch of humongous mayflies! Big, brown rascals, a good two inches long! No ephemeral pale green tinys here. We looked around and saw that the entire area was covered with them. Big, spooky six foot tall weeds were growing up in the flats of dried lake bed. Mayflies all in them. Spider webs were overloaded; filled with a dozen or so mayflies. A good day for a spider on a production quota. Interestingly, there were no hoards of hungry fish blowing up on the mayflies. The water?s surface was calm as could be except for the wind-driven waves.
There was an eerie silence. No two-cycle drone of outboards. That has always been so much a part of the group of perceptions involved with a lake trip. And the heat. It was freaking hot! Why was I feeling so crummy?
We got in the canoe, paddled around. Bill?s got an eye, he observes the water and what?s going on. He hollered out a sand bass spotting. I saw zippo nada. It was not until the water boiled with leaping, frantic baitfish that I even had a clue. That was the theme for the rest of our short trip. Sand bass busting up on bait ?over there?. Of course they made a cameo appearance within two feet of me , splashing up so I?d see what I was missing.
Finally I got too hot, began to feel pain from sitting in the stern of the canoe with the sun beating down on this noggin. I begged Bill that I need to wimp out so we did. Later, as I lay in bed recuperating from a dose of too much heat I pondered that morning at the lake and concluded that even though I came home smelling of skunk I?d had a great time. How many mayfly hatches does one see on a North Texas reservoir? I?d watched the sandies make the bait fly, seen the transient beauty of mayflies and the sparkle of sun off spiders webs.
It?s corny but its also true, ?that?s why they call it fishing and not catching?.
