Look, Ma, I'm Fishing

The calendar says November but the temperature says October, so it's off to Clear Creek again. The great question troubling my mind is, "Have the fish returned after the flood?"

I hike upstream to the log jam run and get some bumps, then see rises. I fish them eagerly.

Chubs; but a fish on the fly nonetheless, after a long hiatus.

I go on upstream and fish my way back down. More bumps in the current seams, but no hookups.

The chubs have moved downstream to the deep, slow water.

I cast a little woolly bugger, and before it can sink chubs come up from the depths and grab it. Look, Ma, I'm fishing.

I continue on downstream all the way to the old bridge abutments. It seems logical to me that if chubs are back their cousins of the smallmouth persuasion should be, too. They aren't.

A chip of moon shines in the shallows as I wade out and begin my hike back to the truck.

I'm content. The creek is showing signs of life again, and so is my fishing.

Thanks, chubs.

"Bird Song, Cannon River Bottoms" by Joyce Sutphen

Skylark, artist unknown

I stopped for the sound,

thinking of the end of Keats's ode,

“To Autumn.”

The cars on the distant road

replaced the lamb's loud bleat,

and bicyclists went whirling by.

Then choruses

of trills and twitterings

filled the stadium of the air—

then faded away

as quickly as they came.

Two men on roller blades went by,

a siren wailed.

I heard the sound of wings

...and slowly it started up again—

a tweet, a chirp,

a long sentence in a language

that may have been lark.

“Bird Song, Cannon River Bottoms” by Joyce Sutphen from The Green House. © Salmon Poetry, 2017.

So Long, Yellowwood

I made one last turn around Yellowwood. Still beautiful in the austere shades of November. A warmish day, but my toes felt the pinch of the cold water. Hot coffee in a tin cup Irished up a tad was what the doctor ordered. No fish to be found; just casting to the moon. Time to hang up the float tube. So long, Yellowwood.

I Love Animals But I Kill Them Too: Hunting Alaskan-Style

Thanks to Fly Fishing in Yellowstone National Park for this link. A BBC feature on Christine Cunningham and hunting in Alaska. Worth a look for the photography alone. Find it HERE.

Waiting Mode

The rains stopped and Sugar Creek numbers went down. Then the rains started again and the numbers jumped.

When the rain quit I looked for a chance to get to the Sugar. Finally two factors came together: a free day and a modest spike in temperatures. The third factor, the condition of the creek, was an unknown. The USGS report had both the cfs and the water level down--but not down to normal flows. I took a chance and went to see for myself.

Still high and fast for my money. I rigged up with something bright and swung it as far as I could cast under the bridge. It seemed futile, but I have memories of finding trout in high water. Why not smallies?

The rest of the time I took a nice walk along the roaring stream, learning one more of her infinite moods.

The stream was flowing bank to bank, so I cut through the deserted campground on my way downstream.

On a weathered picnic table I found some rocks. I wondered who had collected them and left them for my edification.

They liked fossils. Looking at the evidence of ancient sea life put the present high water in sharp perspective, and pondering their origins added another layer of context to the trip.

I wandered on downstream to the end of the campground and the beginning of state park land.

There was the tailout where I've caught most of the smallies I've managed to find here. I decided not to wade out and give it a try.

I had planned to go on downstream but there was no real access along the shoreline. I turned around and headed back to the bridge.

I got to the bridge-- it doesn't seem so old when you think about the fossils under it--walked across, and fished from the other side.

I wondered whether the coons were having better luck than I was in finding what we were looking for.

I walked back over the bridge and started for home.

It was an enjoyable afternoon, but it was time to get back into waiting mode for a while longer.