Tuesday, February 14, 2012
Fly Fishing: Poindexter, Opening Day...At Last.
...now I'm standing in the parking lot at Poindexter Slough, hopping about beside the truck, one foot in waders when the kid arrives, little yappy dog in tow, Zebco in hand, nods...
For reasons still escape me, I mumble something I've learned the hard way is generally a bad idea...How's the fishin'?
Forty-five. But you gotta get it down, bring it back real slow, right on the bottom. Ain't about to come up for it..no way.
Sounds like you had yourself some kind a fun, eh?
Apparently just the opening he'd been waiting, moves in close and cuts right to the chase. Mister, I only been fishin' here for about 20 years, I oughta know how ta ketch 'em by now.
Spying the partially rigged fly rod leaning against the truck mirror adds, Don't wanna bust your chops mister but ain't seen one raise all day.
I remember thinking, kid you really can't be much more than 20...must a got an early start...eh?
If I was you, mister, I'd put on a big, whatyacallit, ah-h, streamer, lots a weight and try and get 'er down, right on the bottom. Ain't about to come up even an inch, no way, and bring it in real slow...slower the better.
Sounds like a plan. Thanks for the hot tip.
That's when he spied Gale strapping on her Nikon.
Ma'am, you wanna awesome picture, follow me.
Tossing the Zebco in the back of his pickup he all but grabbed her by the arm and hustled her toward the frozen cattail pond in front the truck.
C'mon out here, ma'am, ain't that the most awesome beaver dam ya ever saw, make a really good picture, but ya gotta get out here past the bushes, he said, sliding his way on out toward the middle.
I took that as my opening to get the hell outta Dodge. I'll be up in the meadow, get on out there and...
If looks could kill...
Under the bridge I stop to finish rigging, naturally keeping one eye peeled...you know should the kid decide further tutoring is in order...And naturally I tied on a bugger instead of a the midge I'd planned on...After all, the kid did mention 45 trout; 20-years a practice; and besides, not a raise all day...Right.
PS Gale eventually did catch up. And I did think to ask about the awesome picture. And she did--I think--OK I'm almost certain...she muttered a nasty word...and maybe that's all I need say about that, eh?