It Isn't Easy To Be Me

On Saturday I worked in the yard on gardening and landscaping projects, planting shrubs and trees and moving rocks from here to there, that sort of thing. And I painted the deck chairs. I scrubbed out the stock tank and refilled it with clean water. Then I changed the oil in the old Ford tractor and removed the back blade and hooked up the rotary mower. I mowed the riding path around the perimeter of the property, two times around, and then I put the tractor in the shed. I took the new horse with a halter and lead rope and walked the perimeter with her. She’s still learning to trust me. She hadn’t been around on the path yet, and I wanted to walk her, rather than ride, in case she got nervous. I’m not a young man anymore, and I don’t like the idea of falling from a horse at my age. Then I was pretty beat, and went inside for a nap.

On Sunday I was still beat, but it had to be a fishing day. It was overcast and warm, just the way the big fish like it, and I had to go. I hoped I would be the first one to Folding Chair Pool. On the drive out I narrowly missed four deer on the road, and a skunk stepped out in front of me but I was able to avoid her too. There were no fresh tire tracks in the parking area, and I pulled on my waders and vest and rigged up the little three weight bamboo. Folding Chair Pool looked right. The water was clear but the deep water in the belly of the pool and in the current along the far bank was dark. A few small fish were rising at the head of the pool.

I tied on a big Thunder Creek fly, the brown trout pattern, and cast it repeatedly into the tail of the pool, fanning the casts from left to right. Then I stepped into deeper water and lengthened my casts until I was reaching the sweet water along the far bank. The first trout, a brown, hit the fly fast as I pulled it through the current and I played him pretty hard. He was a nice fish, about sixteen inches. The second brown hit the same way, and jumped four times before I had him in my hands. He was just a little smaller. Then a few small fish chased the Thunder Creek but didn’t hook up. Just when I was ready to leave the pool a bigger fish took a swing at the fly but didn’t touch it. He wouldn’t come back, and he wouldn’t come to three other patterns that I tried. The world doesn’t owe me another fish, I figured, and I left him for another time.

I walked down through the woods, over hardwood hills covered with Trilliums and fiddlehead ferns, down to the swamp. I went down about a half mile, but with bends and loops there was about a mile of creek back to the car. I fought through the pricker bushes, the willows and the alders, and began fishing upstream. In the deep pools I used the Thunder Creek, and in the shallower water I tried a Pass Lake bucktail or The Fly That Will Not Be Mentioned In The Fly Shop. I didn’t catch any big fish. I caught maybe twenty trout from eight to thirteen inches long, half brook trout and half browns. I was getting tired, to tell the truth, and I lost focus. I was missing strikes and tangling my backcasts in the bushes.

I worked my way up into the woods where the water moved a little faster. I was standing thigh deep in cold water when I stepped on a slippery rock and went down full length. I stood up pretty fast, but everything was wet. My wading belt limited the water that entered my waders, but when I stood, the water that was in there trickled down to my socks. That was cold. There was water in my fly boxes. My reel was jammed with mud and grit and I had to rinse it before I could reel up. It was a cold quarter mile trudge back to the car. I stopped of course at Folding Chair Pool for another chance at that prime lie, but I caught nothing. At the car I changed into my jeans. While I was changing it started to rain heavily. I hadn’t fallen in years, and I’d gotten casual with my fishing kit. I did have a fleece jacket in the back seat, but I had to drive home without a shirt, socks, or underpants. On the way home the water drained from both my ears, so then I could hear again.

Maybe an old guy like me shouldn't fish the rough country alone. But none of my friend will go back to that creek a second time, even for those fish. I’ll go back without those guys, next week for sure.

That's the spirit!

GOOD ON YOU ERNEST!! You are a real trooper.

I hope you can bring a few rises to the site it would be great.

As a man entering the age of wrinkles, wearing joints & failing eyesight....it's good to see,
I'm not the only one who slips over every now & then. :laugh:
Nicely told Ernest.