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FalsiflyJune 7th, 2008, 12:19 am
Hayward, WI.

Posts: 661		 The double rear doors of the Tahoe swung open for the umpteenth time. The anticipation was building on a moment to moment basis. The wader bag was unzipped and a change from jeans to wader pants was a welcome feeling. The light weight breathable waders were easily slipped into. The boots, on the second set of felts, being dry were a bit of a tussle. The laces, being warn to only a few threads at more than one eye, should have failed long ago but miraculously continue to hold. The vest was donned empty and then loaded from the tackle box. Two boxes of dries, two boxes of nymphs, hemostats, tweezers, a bodkin great for dismantling those tight wind knots, scissors, two styles of nippers on a zinger, a couple of well used 5X tapered leaders, one dispenser each of 5 & 6X tippet, strike indicators, floatant, split shot, a packet of cleanex for those unexpected moments, and purely out of curiosity a stream thermometer of the mercurial type for scientific study. All placed strategically in a vest with too many pockets. The cloth bag was slipped from the tube and the 4 weight 4 piece Scott G was assembled lining up the little red dots. The Bauer LM1 was fitted to the up locking reel seat and secured. The threading of line through the eyes and attachment of leader would be done stream side to allow a searching eye for fish and insect activity. Insect repellent was a concern because it had been forgotten, however nary a mosquito was presently humming which was a hopeful indication. The polarized glasses were hung from ear to ear and a moment taken to reflect on forgotten items and to assess the threatening southwest sky. A tick was plucked from the left forearm and flicked into the nearby brush with astonishment. The approaching storm appeared distant so the rain jacket was left behind. The path to the water was a familiar trail through tall planted pines, the tops swaying in the balmy breeze. A right was taken at the rock but the trail diverged to the left from the familiar. The divergence was indistinguishable from that of the flat footed type or that on the hoof. However the result was the same, streamside. The butt of the rod was placed in the converging V of a suitably stout bush and the line was threaded through the eyes. The perfection loops of the .025 amnesia and the 5x leader were intertwined. The old 5x tippet was severed and eighteen inches of new 5X was blood knotted in. All this was done with one eye on the ceiling of the aquatic world. It was long ago learned that patients and observation beat haste, as in the tortoise against the hare. The confluence of atmosphere and water revealed no disturbance as in rises or emergence. A tick was plucked from the back of the neck and flicked upon the undulating continuum. In the absence of observable surface activity a nymph was quickly chosen and with the aid of the hemostats secured with an improved clinch. Fishing had begun. Cast after cast below the rock damn resulted in the passage of time only. Moving to the upstream side of the damn resulted in more of the same. Not to worry, I had only just begun and the good spots were yet to come. The threatening sky was becoming more ominous, the mosquitoes more demanding of my constant swats and where in the hell were these ticks coming from? Undaunted I continued on. I hit every spot which had proven successful in the past. My fly changes were met with continued consternation. The swatting of mosquitoes became a useless frenzy and the ticks were everywhere. The lightning and the approaching wall of water was the last straw. My hasty retreat was met with the usual swagger of a drunken sailor over slimy freestone rocks and boulders. I had no choice but to exit the water from where I entered because the streamside brush was impenetrable. Once firmly established on the path the mad dash was on. I made it to the Tahoe just as the deluge descended. The double rear doors of the Tahoe swung open for the umpteenth time.
Falsifly
When asked what I just caught that monster on I showed him. He put on his magnifiers and said, "I can't believe they can see that."
FlybyknightJune 7th, 2008, 12:04 pm
Milton, DE

Posts: 82		Falsifly;
Thanks for a nice read. Enjoyed it.
Tics are real bad here to in DE, so
can sympathize with your plight.

Dick
Lightly on the dimpling eddy fling;
the hypocritic fly's unruffled wing.
Thomas Scott

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