I tie up a couple of quick and dirty deer hair poppers for a trip to Yellowwood. Maybe I'm feeling guilty about the rubber worms.
There's a family fishing across from the boat ramp. The grandpa sees the float tube and tells his grandsons to "hey, look at that!" He tells me he remembers when they were "just inner tubes with a belt." He admires my modern version, and explains to the kids how it works.
Then he tells them to look at my "fly pole." "Do you know what a fly pole is really good for?" he asks me. "Frogs!" I say I've gigged frogs before but never used my fly rod. "Nah!" he answers. "You get more tin cans than frogs by gigging. The light on a tin can looks just like a frogs eyes. Nah, just reach out that fly pole with a little bit of yarn on the end and they'll hit it with those long tongues every time."
I kick out wondering if there's any yarn at home that I can tuck in my vest. I haven't had frog legs in a long time, but when I did, fresh caught and twitching in the pan until fried to a turn, they were delicious.
I have those deer hair poppers, but a plastic worm is still on my line, so I succumb to temptation once again. And once again, crime pays.
I kick across and find some bass on the west side, too.
Dark comes too soon. I decide to stop off at the spillway on the kick back to the ramp. Now I tie on one of those deer hair poppers. The fish like it. I get lots of hits by bluegill, and one manages to fit it in his mouth.
Then a bass whacks it. And balance is restored in the fly fishing universe.
I pack up and begin the drive out and see that the moon has come up.
Once again she is my beautiful companion all the way home.