Cold Water, Wet Wind

Cold Water, Wet Wind . . .

 

The Sticks Cast
(NYC 03 2017)

Days of rain had drawn a distinct mudline, a seam bordered by blued rippled crystal, rendered by cold water current and a consistent wet wind. Perfect, for a stretch, from which fish might pounce on prey and retreat, covered.

A largemouth of fifteen inches darted from this cover and raced over the sprouts of pond bottom plants and in full sun rolled over my Green Guarantee. Rusty ron P. raised Ebisu, plucked the fly from the fish’s mouth a nanosecond before jaws could clamp down on the inhaled line.

Between the lasting breezes, a cold even thermal wear could not weather long. Run, jog, run made mandatory to stay active, not frozen. Beyond the sticks of last year’s shoreline stalks, fishes, and by leaning, balanced, a toehold on dry rock, Ebisu held out to work kebari along the edges, fishes.

Fishes. Yes. No, not the black bass, nor the expected black crappie. The bluegill, male and female both, took to strike the feather and fur kebari worked on the steady swim just above bottom.

Cold water.

Wet wind.

Fist Fish, 2017.

First Fish, 2017.
(NYC 03 2017)

Second Fish, 2017.

Second Fish, 2017.
(NYC 03 2017)

Yes. Gone fishing. Catching and Releasing. Happy.

–  rPs 03 31 2017

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