I plan a Thanksgiving week outing and go back to Deer Mill. The old bridge stands unchanging as the seasons shift around it for the 138th time.
The campground is closed for the season but the river flows on. I listen to it as it speaks to me of true and lasting things. I swing flies under the bridges and at the slick, the scenes of earlier catches. Today the only things tugging on the fly are drowned leaves.
I wonder if this is my last trip of the year. Then two fishermen come from somewhere around the bend upstream. I'm too far away to talk to them, but they are obviously coming from a place they thought they might find late season smallies.
Maybe I can still find that place before the snow flies.
I'm thankful for rivers and for their never ending flow of hope.
Pretty country.
ReplyDeleteThey're still Jim. Just podded up I guess. I fished over an hour yesterday in Putnam County before getting a strike. Caught 7 more right after that without moving more than 20 feet - then they were done...almost all were caught after the end of the swing and a very long pause before starting to strip it back. I suspect the "float and fly" method will need to be employed going forward for a few months. Brrrr.....
ReplyDeletep.s GREAT post - lovely photos! Jay
ReplyDeleteAwesome photos Jim.
ReplyDeleteI like the fly...do you care to share the recipe.
Your pictures soothe my soul...and soften the rough edges...
ReplyDeleteThanks for sharing the late season serenity back your way. Sure looks inviting.......
ReplyDeleteHere's hoping you get more opportunities before the cold really sets in.