I feel pretty fortunate as this fishing season has cranked up. I’ve simply had a load of fun so far. But spring has not been without it’s minor disappointments. A fishing trip I eagerly anticipated was left high and dry due to an accomplice’s last minute scheduling conflicts, and a second slated to take its place fell victim to the same from a different partner-in-crime.
It’s always darkest before the dawn (side note: the fishing is often full tilt around the same time). And as it turns out, an old and dear friend rang today. One I’d lost touch with quite a while back, and one I’ve spent countless days on the water with. We’re talking old like BMX bicycle transport and dear like full heads of hair dear. And while we did some catching up (no pun intended…really), the conversation quickly turned to something like this…
Hey Grace, I read your blog. Good stuff…see you’re still fishing. Listen, I found this place where the redfish are thick as thieves. Never another boat in sight. I see you’re heavy on the trout…but you can still cast a nine, eh? I can get you inside fifty feet, on huge schools tailing without a care in the world. All day long I tell ya’. Last weekend we knocked off 18 in just a few hours. You interested?
This particular person is, without a doubt, one of the finest anglers I have ever known. We fished together in grade school. I quit the junior high soccer team because he told me the fishing was other-worldly, and I just had to be there. I had no regrets about that move – it was the spring to which all other springs have been compared since. Few have even come close.
The answer was obvious.
In the not too distant future I must disappear. Ticket in hand, to a point sworn secret. Chase a fish that fights like a carp (or visa versa, depending on your own perspective). One I know…tastes better blackened.
MG signing off (to stretch some saltwater tapers)