Super Secret...and Full of Bass

Extra large please...

I fished until the sun began to set on the horizon.  And then I fished some more.  I lost track of how many times I told Lucy, "last fish and we're going home girl."  So did she.  An impromptu trip to a long-neglected favorite fishing hole had turned into an evening of crashing, thrashing excitement, and quite the workout for my right arm.

A dreary and rainy Thursday had me second-guessing my perceived need for adventure.  After a quick dinner I found myself contemplating my fishing options and whether going out after that rain would even be worth it.  Lucy stared in disbelief.  She could actually tell that I was considering an alternative use of a rare free evening.  Eventually, her stare, and my conscious, got the best of me.  We ran out the door.

I entered the pasture around 7:00 p.m.  The rain-soaked tire tracks offered a makeshift slip-n-slide over the ruts and prairie dog holes.  With my white truck sufficiently covered in prairie mud, I pulled up to the gate.  The quiet calm of the grasslands was interrupted only briefly by the barking of nearby prairie dogs.  Their skittish behavior suggested target practice occurred earlier that day.  Lucky for them that was not my intention.  We entered the field.

Lucy and I marched through the grass like a prairie bird hunting pair.  Lucy's nose to the ground, my stride filled with excitement.  The cool rainwater jumped from the grass and beaded off of my White Sierra pants as I bounded toward our destination.  The prairie dramatically morphed into a bowl ahead of me.  The mirror-like pool shined in the sun below.  Now... would there be fish?

I stripped out 20 ft of fly line before tying on my favorite spring bass pattern.  The mud surrounding the dam responded to my boot like quicksand to a weary wanderer.  I was in up to my ankle.  The joys of stockdam fishing after a spring rain.  I cast my cactus chenille crawler toward the middle of the dam.  If I could have one gripe about fishing stock ponds on the grasslands, it is the fact that anticipation is short lived.  After two strips the fly line goes tight.  A green head explodes from the water like lightning from a thunderhead.  Again, the fish leaps through the air without effort and fights for deeper water.  One cast and one fish to hand.  I admire the largemouth before sending her back to the "super secret" spot.  Maybe next time I'll take a few home for the frying pan.

As I grow as a fisherman, I've come to appreciate the settings in which I experience life.  Shortly after that first fish, a pack of coyotes howled over the ridge.  Roosters began to cackle  as they settled in to evening roosting spots.  Like fighter pilots, Pintails and teals conducted flyovers of my fishing hole.  All while the iconic sounds of the meadowlark echoed through the open air.  This setting made me wonder why it had been so long since I've taken the time to enjoy this special place.  Priorities had changed, not only in my family life, but in my fishing life as well.

After a few hours of catching, it was time to go.  My boots now matched my pickup, and my muddy dog.  Trudging back as the sun set in the distance brought back great memories of past stock dam conquests and rainy day quagmires.  You can't get that feeling form a tv show, or magazine article.  Only by being in the moment.  It is a feeling I hope to experience again very soon.  Maybe tomorrow...

Admiring Super Secret

Nothin to it but to DO IT!

Here mousey, mousey...

Mousing has been around for a while.  I equate it, in a way, to carp fishing.  A lot of people have been doing it for a long time, just not the people who write or make videos about their excursions.  I've wanted to tie on a mouse pattern for some time now.  Daydreaming of a big largemouth or rainbow crashing the surface for a swimming rodent makes me salivate.  At the tying vise, however, my hesitancy would kick in and I would opt for a pattern I'm more comfortable with.  I was fearful that I could not tie a mouse pattern.  Even with only myself at the table, I feared a blow to my ego and potentially to my tying.

And then I received something that turned everything around.  A gift from my uncle.   Flies he had found when cleaning out my grandfather's things after he had passed away.  There were two of them, large, gaudy, obnoxious.  Thick clumps of deer hair tied on with what looked to be butchers yarn.  Thick white yarn holding on one large, long clump of deer hair.  One of the things I am sure to tell kids who are just starting out with tying is, "there are two types of flies...flies that fish like, and flies that fisherman like".  That is something I had forgotten while tying lately.  Everything has been precise and aesthetically pleasing to me.   I began developing the mentality that beautiful flies will catch fish.

I'm fairly certain that my grandpa didn't tie, so those flies my uncle gave to me must have been tied by his brother, uncle Donny.  They weren't pretty or neat in any way.  But I'm confident they would catch a fish.  My confidence was riding high.  "I can tie a little old mouse pattern," I though.  Turns out, I could.  It was not only easy, it was ascetically pleasing and realistic.  I did work hard to make it that way, but if it hadn't turned out like that, I wouldn't have minded.  They will be tested this weekend in locations where hungry bass and trout call home.  Heck, maybe I'll even try out the flies that inspired my work.  My confidence is riding high.

If you have considered tying a patter that you think will kill it on your local water, but are hesitant to take the jump, I only say this.  You miss 100% of the shots you don't take.  If you never attempt to tie a patter, you never will.  Get busy tyin when you don't feel like tryin...