From the Archives – I have 100s of posts that were made on fishing forums starting around 1998. When I have nothing new to say, I thought I would start putting them up on my blog. I hope you like them.
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On Friday at 5PM the river was flowing at 2100 cubic feet per second. That was just good enough to go where I wanted on Saturday morning.
On the way home from work I drove through intense down pours and what seemed like tornado type winds. When the trees along the road are bending over far enough for the branches to touch the road, that tends to be a problem as you drive along.
By Friday at 8 PM the river was flowing at 4900 cfs. Totally screwed up my Saturday river fishing plans. At 2100 cfs wading the shore line up stream of Orchard Road is a piece of cake. Water flows higher than that and I look for something else to do other than fishing.
I was buggy to go out somewhere Saturday morning, but now it hardly seemed worth it.
When kittens are awake they play. With everything. Till they fall asleep again. Kittens tend to wake up when the light outside the window gets a little lighter than night. Which is about 5 AM.
My kitten will come and sit on my chest at that time. If that doesn’t get a response, it will put its face up to mine. If that doesn’t work, it will start rubbing it’s head on my hand. If none of those work, it will start biting and fighting with my hand. That tends to wake me up.
I figured that since I was up I may as well go fish. Big Rock has a pond next to it that I like to stop at now and then. The easy way to get to it is to wander down stream and walk across the creek. The hard way is to walk the shore on the same side as the pond.
I guess you have to see it to appreciate what that means.
I assumed I was going to have to go the hard way, but when I got to the creek I was stunned to see that except for being a little stained, it was like it had never rained. As far as I could tell the creek didn’t come up at all.
This is the stretch that had got blown out by floods at the end of last year and the beginning of this year.
With all the rains we’ve been having, the shores were coming alive with new growth. What had been scoured down to rock was now grass dense and tall enough to make it almost impassable.
The opposite shore is still pretty well cut away and I think it could take a few years for it to start looking like it used to. But even here new growth was beginning to take over.
Except for Mill Creek, the creeks have been surprisingly quiet this year. Hundreds of bass fry along the shore reminded me that even though I haven’t caught them, they were still here. Maybe my timing has just been off. But that doesn’t explain why Mill Creek was as good as it ever was.
Big Rock gave up one smallie on my hike down the shore line. At the pond the fishing was just as sparse. Which again is unusual. One largemouth was all that I could muster.
I shared the shore with a large snapping turtle. I was going to go mess with it a bit, but remembered the speed with which they can move their heads. I decided I valued having my fingers still attached to my hand and left well enough alone.
I finished a leisurely walk along the pond and headed home. At least something was caught.
Come Monday I was still buggy to go fish somewhere. The river had topped out at 5900 cfs some time Saturday and was now flowing just over 5200. That made the river off limits.
I decided to hit Waubonsie Creek on the way home from work. A few miles from the creek I realized I had forgot to put my rod in the car.
Shit. Okay, stop at home, get the rod, go to Big Rock in Plano.
At home as I was going for my rod, my brother-in-law was laughing at what I had done. I told him how one time I drove for an hour out to the river, got all suited up, went to put on my wading boots only to find they weren’t in the car.
I got out to the creek and the conditions were perfect. I got almost all suited up when I noticed, or didn’t notice my wading boots.
Shit. They were at home. If you would have asked I would have swore on a stack of bibles that I had put them in the car.
Fine. Fuck it. Whatever. There’s no damn fish in this fuckin’ creek anyway.
Now that sentence is much more impressive when you picture an SUV parked in the gravel on the side of a road. An obviously pissed off, sweating and animated middle aged gray haired guy is stripping out of breathable waders repeatedly saying that sentence over and over. While standing behind this SUV on the side of this road now in a t-shirt, underwear and socks, the scene is much more impressive as items are being slammed into the back of this SUV.
Across the narrow road is a park, with a ball field, with a little league game going on. The parking lot is full, the stands are filled with beaming parents.
Whatever. Nobody heard or saw anything. I felt better.
I headed home. I thought I would salvage the evening by building a make shift desk needed for an office space. I like to use old unused doors for this. I took my time cutting the door down to the 60 inches I needed. Sanded down all the edges. Polished it up all nice and shiny. It looked beautiful.
I brought it in and placed it gently on the frame I had that would hold the desk. The door was four inches short.
If you would have asked I would have swore on a stack of bibles that I had measured the frame at 60 inches.
Whatever. Piece of shit desk.
I don’t drink much anymore, but my brother-in-law does. He’s staying with us while he helps out getting his mother back on her feet after recent health issues that almost killed her.
I grabbed one of his beers, sat out on the deck with my feet up and smoked a cheap cigar. Bad day, repressive heat, cold beer and a cigar.
At least a couple of things were going right.
