Because of my highly successful recovery from Myrmecophobia (fear of ants), I was very excited when Mike called last Friday to suggest re-visiting that local tributary I told you about in my previous post. We set Saturday morning as the date of "destruction." With only marginal rain in the overnight forecast, we were sure of great success.
We got to the river early, before first light, and as the day began to brighten we could see more and more clearly the conditions with which we were cursed; it turns out that Saturday was a very wet date. Very wet and chocolatey-milky, unfortunately. The water was so brown that it was white, in some spots, and I think the only way for the salmon to get around was if they had had the use of periscopes. Some of the storm clouds, which were supposed to have shed only the merest breath of a drizzle of a shaking dog, had had ideas of their own. Namely, I've been fishing long enough to know that the river'd be blown; the rain had been that bad at times, on Friday night. Sigh.
To make matters worse, my time was at a premium on this particular morning. I wanted to get back home by 10am, so I could do some yard work; something about increasing the equity in my share of Laura's good graces, and the back lawn was looking pretty scraggly. I mean, it was a jungle back there! Not that it's so bad to have to do yard work. It's just that when your buddy decides to high-tail it to another river, further east, you can't really keep your honour and high-tail it with him. Especially, when even your own little internal voice is saying "man, that grass looks BAD!"
So Mike managed to salvage his day, by obtaining success elsewhere. I decided to continue my research on float-fishing rivermouths & headed out to the very end of the pier, out into the lake, looking for adequate seams to "sew." However, there was nothing for me but the exclamation point on the mini-disaster that my morning fishing trip had turned into: carp jumping out in the lake. Warm water, not cold.
There are two things of note, otherwise, that I can jot down here. First, in the dark, I did manage to "line" something. If you're not familiar with the term "lining" or "to line fish," it generally refers to the practise of snagging, but is usually done in the mouth. It's called "lining" because the passing fish will get the line caught in its mouth & usually all it takes, then, is a hookset to get the fish on. Anyway, this fish I lined was caught above the float, and it snapped the line once the float had reached the swivel & could no longer glide down any further. Admittedly, this is not very agile, when you're drifting, and my only excuse is that it was still dark at the time & I could not see how much slack I had let out. Mike managed to save the float for me by casting at it repeatedly & hooking into the leader beneath it. Thanks bud!
The second thing of note, and the thankful end to this rather ineffectual blog entry: whether you fish or not, take a walk along Lake Ontario's shore if you can make time for it, in the fall. Scenes like this, and this await you.
Oh yeah. The afternoon was dry enough that I did take care of that back yard. It looks nice, now!
p.-
No comments:
Post a Comment