50, Fish Day: Part I

50, Fish Day: Part I . . .

 

Sunbathed:
Prospect Park Lake
(NYC 08 08 2017)

Fifty approaches me with little time measured in days to act. My final fish day of my forties presented itself.

When had to be soon. Where was the infinite open question. I chose almost on autopilot on a free weekday. Choice chosen kept it urban, subway and walk to the water and back. My commute: one to the borough of Brooklyn, which I had not yet visited with rod and reel in 2017.

No secret of where remains at this lake in Prospect Park. Facebook groups and other social media, Tenkara Takes Manhattan in full fact, have announced with praise of bass fishing the over fifty surface  acres of water here.

I came in part to continue techniques for bullhead catfish, which I have brought to net here in the unphotographed past. Slow presentations of the Green Guarantee lured the fish, not catfish, both bass, caught at the beginning and at the end like bookends.

Prospect Largemouth
(NYC 08 08 2017)

That balanced outcome hinged on a decision.

The day all day had been cool enough for a summer sweater and benefited from good air. The light breeze left the water by late afternoon, sky set like a painting under a blend of sun and stunning, towering cloud.

I chose the close at a final spot facing west just before the sun dipped behind the park’s treeline. A barbeque party north across the cove set up, took off with island music and the smoke of grills just as I prepared my first cast.

Urban angling in a borough park. I concentrated, landed the fly at the end of a log submerged inches from the surface. The textbook log scenario scored a quick take, hard, weighty, just as the fly blended into subsurface obscurity. A strong run to the right, then back to the log, and gone. The spider’s line of 7X tippet had stretched well enough to keep the fly knotted, yet had not allowed a hook set enough into the bass’s gristled mouth.

The rebound cast, plagued by thought, snagged onto what was more wood below the waterline. There the fly sank deep where it rests even now.

The decision, again, it simply exists over and over. Here, had the universe told me to call it a decade, or did I have enough resolve to apply perseverence into the beyond, like the runner going into uncharted distance, toward the good finish rich in personal symbol and satisfaction?

Amber shades on under setting sun, drum machine high hats tsking in the rear distance, I managed to knot onto my level line another fresh four feet of demanding 7X and a size 8 Green Guarantee.

The second cast back at the log felt a yank bend the repaired Yamame rod into an arch and the fish held me in static stand off. Strong as a snag, the head shake with tip of tail above water followed before a grip of lower lip and a photo: sun setting on the final fish of my forties.

Sunset Prospect
(NYC 08 08 2017)

Largemouth, fitting for a writer of reportage, one brought to hand and released with ethics intact and an A for effort as time passes and blends into a blur into the past, past positive.

— rPs 08 09 2017

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