The Fisherman
This is a tribute to all us fishing people who dream about fish and how to catch them.
Early June in Virginia and the bluegill and bass would be spawning. Dad invited a mess of people over and asked me to get some fish. I got 23 big sassy bluegill on fly rod and Arbogast surface poppers
and several bass on Mepps #2 buck tail spinners, greatest lure ever made. If a woman ever wore these as ear rings, I’d be hooked.
There are few things as delicious as fresh bluegill grilled over coals.
The Fisherman The fisherman waits for as long as it takes. He waits for the dawn and the warming light to strike the water and wake the fish. He waits for the wind to settle or to arrive, according to his philosophy, long held but secretive. Perhaps the rain will come or stop soon and then they’ll begin to rise and take a fly. If this blasted sun could be covered by a cloud unless today is when the dappling surface will excite them into a feeding frenzy. What is that moon doing? They will always take a fly when it is either waxing or on the wane. Unless the water is quite cold, then everything changes. No matter, dusk is almost here and soon I'll begin hauling them in, hand over fist until my arms quiver and shake and I have reached my creel’s limit of joy! Below is a great little poem I have always loved. My grandfather had this on a little plaque in his tackle room/closet. Behold the fisherman. He riseth up, early in the morning and disturbeth the whole household. Mighty are his preparations. He goeth forth full of hope, returning when the day is far spent; smelling of strong drink and the truth is not in him.
Fish tales
Fishing has fed both hunger and souls for eons. I love the ever changing philosophy of a good fishing day throughout the poem! Creel is now in my vocabulary…