I tend to be a lone angler. This is a habit I fostered
when, as a father of two young boys, my fishing time was
limited and I arose early to make certain I was home early.
Those that I fished with tended to prefer a more normal
schedule, and I often found myself alone. As time went on
I grew to love the solitude of being on the water before
first light, and often felt, as the only one witnessing
stunning sun rises on Plum Island Sound, that they were
just for me. To this day I tend to keep my own counsel
when I fish.
But lately, it seems, I fish more often in the company of
others. I have had the opportunity to meet a number of new
fly fishers, good sports all, and I’ve been sharing my home
waters and their company nearly every fishing excursion.
And while I have enjoyed the company, “the comfort of
solitude enhanced by companionship,” as Tom McGuane so
eloquently describes it, I’ve missed the freedom of fishing
when I want and coming and going as I please. Sometimes I
prefer to fish long and hard; other times hot coffee and
good books beckon me home earlier than I planned. It’s
not fair subjecting others to such whims.
Recently I found myself with a whole fishing day and no
companions. The tide was my favorite, dead low at 7 am,
and I could launch the kayak at 4, let the tide take me
to a spot that fishes well two hours before low and arrive
at false dawn. After getting my full of fishing (as if
that’s possible), I’d let the changing tide ease me back
home.
I usually troll when I fish from the kayak, not so much
to catch fish as to find fish. If I pick up a striper
while trolling I’ll stay in the area and throw a few
casts to see if there is a school about. If not, I’ll
let out line and move on until I hook another. But today
it was the destination, not the journey, and I kept the
fly in the boat while paddling to a long sand bar off of
a marsh bank that formed a natural funnel for fish and
was accessible only on the lower ends of the tide.
When I arrived I was sincerely happy to find the bar
loaded with others. Though far better fishers than I,
our quarry was different, and their presence was a
pleasant portent of the fine fishing to come. When I
beached the yak they readily moved to give me wide berth,
but not without a good bit of grumbling, nay, squawking.
We all caught fish; they the silversides driven shoreward
by voracious stripers, me the frenzied stripers mistaking
my thin, feather-winged streamers for the baitfish they
recklessly pursued. I’m not sure how long I fished or
how many I caught and it didn’t matter. I fished through
the slack, stayed until I was full but not stuffed, and,
paddled toward home with the turn of the tide.
During the row home, I’m joined by another fisher who
paddles much quicker than I do and, unlike my other
companions this day, is more adept at catching big fish.
Usually I’d consider this encounter a curse, knowing I
can’t compete, but, content with my catch, I don’t mind
the company. He doesn’t either, apparently, and heads
straight toward my kayak as if he is going to climb aboard.
Later, when recounting the experience to a friend, I say,
“I think he might have mistaken me for his mother.”
“Could be,” my friend replied, “same moustache and hair-do.”
“Solitude is good company,” suggests the Mexican architect
Luis Barragan, and I tend to agree. But fishing with
others, be they men or birds or seals, isn’t so bad either. ~ Dave
About Dave:
Dave Micus lives in Ipswich, Massachusetts. He is an
avid striped bass fly fisherman, writer and instructor.
He writes a fly fishing column for the Port City Planet
newspaper of Newburyport, MA (home of Plum Island and Joppa Flats)
and teaches a fly fishing course at Boston University.
Originally published October 17th, 2005 on Fly Anglers Online by Dave Micus.