All Good Things Come To An End

Just four days after the last trip I make it back to Yellowwood. One day left in the sweet month of August and signs of fall are declaring themselves. The fishing is slow but I fool a couple bluegill--and one little pumpkinseed who I shoot through the air with a yank meant for a bigger fish.

At the dam, alas, the hatch seems to have played out. Only a few splashes up by the weeds. I try to squeeze out as much as I can of what's left but get only three hookups in 45 minutes. Two of those come undone, and the one I bring in is a baby.

All good things come to an end. You can count on that, too.

Going Strong

 The bass are hungry at Yellowwood, and the hatch is going strong as August winds down.

"Invisible Visitors" by David Budbill

                                                   All through August and September
                                                            thousands, maybe
                                                   tens of thousands, of feathered
                                                            creatures pass through
                                                   this place and I almost never see
                                                            a single one. The fall
                                                   wood warbler migration goes by here
                                                            every year, all of them,
                                                  myriad species, all looking sort of like
                                                            each other, yellow, brown, gray,
                                                  all muted versions of their summer selves,
                                                            almost indistinguishable
                                                  from each other, at least to me, although
                                                            definitely not to each other, 
                                                  all flying by, mostly at night, calling to each
                                                            other as they go to keep
                                                  the flock together, saying: chip, zeet,
                                                            buzz, smack, zip, squeak—
                                                            those
                                                  sounds reassuring that we are
                                                            all here together and
                                                  heading south, all of us just passing
                                                            through, just passing
                                                  through, just passing through, just
                                                            passing through.

Beauty Aplenty

Yellowwood beauty aplenty for one summer evening.