I finally quit rotting in my cube long enough to get out in the water. (BTW Gnu Bee, Jack Hise was using my own phrase a couple of weeks ago.) I did NOT forget my fishing license, which I did July 3rd and thus drove an hour and a half each way for mothing but a pretty ride and a 3-hour conversation (and a sunburn). (Note that it seems like I almost always forget something.)
I hopped into the water at the parking lot below the Normandy Dam and just upstream of Jack Hise, Warren, and Robert. They were knocking out the 'gills left and right. I put on a variant wolly bugger and promptly caught the day’s only trout, a fat 12" beauty with a beautiful pink stripe and an attitude that stretched from fore to aft. I felt vindicated!
The rest of the day was catching one tiddler bluegill after another, at least for me. Warren refused to let anything under about 8" get a look at his flies. I kept thinking, “He’s hung up” and then the line would zip away. Warren will have to keep me accurate, but I think that those might have been shellcrackers of note that he kept pulling out of the timber.
Warren and Robert became engaged in quiet, whispered conspiracy that may have resulted in the covert hand-off of the secret formula (“Here, try this fly.”) and the execution of their Master Plan (A lot more fish got caught.)
Jack was keeping an eye on me, in case I tripped over my own two feet and needed rescuing. It wasn’t quite that bad, but I’m sure that the dance that accompanied my retrieval of a snagged fly must have been amusing. (That particular pile of brush was entirely concealed under the water. My moves harkened back to my disco frat-rat days.)
As we were heading back upstream, we met a kayaker whom we had seen earlier. She is new to the sport and a thoroughly nice lady. We passed on this website and told her that she could post or just lurk. We hope to see her again in the future and Jack invited her to a club meeting.
The evening ended with with me splashing around in the river before taking off my waders. (Nothing poos like a vulture…)
Afterwards, Jack and I got burgers at a nearby market and rehashed the afternoon and evening. When we were about to leave, I flicked a bug off my hand then did a doubletake. It was a mayfly. Not just a mayfly, but a Trico! A wee, tiny little thing that had just a hint of lemon-lime color and big, dark eyes. On the hood of Jack’s car was another! It had a trifurcated tail at least 3 times as long as its body. I reminded Jack that if there was a hatch that far from the river, there might be a nice spinner fall in the morning.
Sorry for the lack of pictures, I forgot to take my camera…
Warm Regards from a cooler than normal Tennessee,
Ed
