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