And for the past 3 days I’ve been doing it fairly well.
Clients continue to blow deadlines, which leaves me with nothing to do. That’s a good thing. This time of year I feel an almost desperate need to be outside. The short days and low angle of the sun triggers everything to start dying off. I’ve noticed that the soybean fields changed from vibrant greens to golds and then brown in less than 2 weeks.
Fewer flowers to be found, but some behave as if the middle of summer.
Others are hanging on along with the duckweed, the last vestiges of a colorful summer.
The tall grasses losing their once crisp colors.
I’ve always noticed the spider webs become more numerous and thicker this time of year.
Once solid walls of green in the backgrounds have become more mottled.
The first touches of gold and orange are starting to appear.
Friends are feeling that desperate need to be out too. More requests come for get togethers and some times they happen.
For me fishing is a numbers game. I like to catch a lot of them and that I did. In those three days 104 fish were caught, but another 102 were missed. Like anyone else I like to catch the bigger ones and that I did.
But I’m also perfectly content catching the feisty little ones.
The haze and heat of summer is gone with winds and clouds blowing in from the north. With the lower angle of the sun the colors intensify and the sharpness of their edges are stark.
Everything looks crisp, clear and clean.
Even the fish are highlighted differently. Shadows darker, highlights bright white and colors that shine.
The last stretch of the river to be fished faces directly west. When not behind clouds the sun is blinding with its intensity doubled by its reflection off the water. The reprieve of a bank of clouds is a welcome respite, even if brief.
When the sun returns from behind the clouds, I just turn around now and then to get my vision back.
The last hour is the most active. The osprey will make one last effort to fly like a hummingbird while it decides where to crash into the water to try for a meal. A lone owl hoots on a distant island. Blue herons croak and move from spot to spot. On a couple of days an eagle drifted down stream. A couple of hundred geese return to the river with the night and dimples appear on the rivers’ surface while one of the last bug hatches of the year erupts off the river like a fog.
This is usually when I find a spot to sit still and enjoy the show. I caught all the fish I wanted for the day.
I read a book a long time ago called A Flash of Green. I have no memory of what it was about, my brain does that to me. I remember images that words paint, not the words. The image in this one is the flash of green that you can supposedly see as the sun disappears on the horizon. If you blink, you miss it.
I must blink a lot.
