Tuesday, July 28, 2009

Fooling Trout

On foot, and off the black top.

The bike is still down. It is something that will press the limits of my patience. So I've bailed on the idea of getting any riding done in the immediate future and have taken to the back country—on foot.

Somewhere off the Ridge Road, a mile or so deep in hemlock, is a little trail my father showed me. It follows a small run that drops into the west branch of the Susquehanna. It smells of age and cool earth. The stream is clear and cold. The native trout are dark and wear a red stripe.

They live alone—one per pool.

I hiked here often as a child and come back when I need to escape. This is where my father taught me how to fish the small pools. To sneak up low and not cast a shadow. To set the hook on the first hit because there are no second chances.

We used worms or crickets—the natives were hard to fool. But now, as an adult, I fish the nymph. Somewhere along the line, it became less abut catching a fish and more about fooling the trout.

4 comments:

Jeni said...

My late uncle loved to fish but wasn't exactly the best fisherman around. However, I do recall he often used to say that trout were very crafty little creatures and to him, it was all about fooling them into taking his bait.
I really loved this post because it took me back in time to the days when my uncle would take me along with him -at least on one fishing expedition per year. However, those trips were always to the prison grounds at Rockview -fishing Spring Creek there back when they would still let the public in to do that.

Jonathan said...

Thanks for stopping by. I managed to get one on the hook on the last trip.

I also saw some debris from the gas company survey crew. Those boys really need to clean up after themselves if they're going to be traipsing our backyard.

perezvila™ said...

hey!
happy to be back on your blog... i can see you keep with the ride... and keep with the photos..
i loved your CSI post!!

best regards!!

Sojourner rides said...

Nice post--and I love the photo! My late father was a fisherman. I recall going with him once. I much preferred the fruits of his labor as he was also an excellent cook. Thanks for the memory.