Wednesday, November 12, 2008

Smallmouths on dry flies


August 7, 1992 Housatonic River
West Cornwall, CT
Arrived at the river 7:15 am. On west side of the river drove 1 mile north of the covered bridge. Drove down dirt road to west trail. Upon entering the water a hatch was occurring and large trout (rainbow and browns) were feeding on emergers. After trying light cahills, size 16 with no risers, I switched to a prince nymph and had one strike. Hatch ended, not certain what fly it was.
Moved upstream, water still low at 9:00am but rising. Found a large pool on West side of river250 yards from entry point. Saw risers, caught one 8” brown on a small light cahill size 16. Caught 3 smallmouths in the same pool. Two 1.5 lbs’ers and one five incher. Saw more splashy risers from smallmouths. Water level rising. Out of water by 12:00pm


I remember the emotions of this day more than the specifics surrounding the trip. The powerful smallmouths hitting flies was more memorable than any of the other details. I can picture the rock where I stood and cast quartering and downstream. Smallmouths are as likely to hit on the drift as they are the retrieve.

Memories become more visual when they are attached to the other senses, I can recall the heat, the smell, the bright sunlight, and the feel of the beat up Oxford shirt I wore to protect my skin from the burning sun.

A lesson in life is to take notice of your emotions as they occur, feel where it affects you physically. In this case I can remember the feel of the fabric on my skin and the knowledge that it was protecting me, this is the same feeling I get today when my son and I wear rash guards as we splash around at the beach in Florida. Free of the need to constantly slather our backs and shoulders with sun block we appreciate the tight fabric as it covers our chest, back, and shoulders.

Observing your joy and feeling its effect on your being and then making a mental note of that feeling is more powerful than the million megapixel camera you’ll be able to purchase any day now in our record-every-moment obsessed society.

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