March 29, 2010

Sick My Ass

A terrible week for me as I struggled to rid myself of a nasty bug. This tenacious little bastard has made my life miserable. When it comes to being sick, I'll tough it out as my sick days are strictly designated for fishing. I rested the entire day to give my body a chance to recover. Bundled in blankets, I still hacked and wheezed. I never moved off the couch and drifted off into a deep sleep. The alarm in the kitchen quietly chimed announcing it was time for a day of fishing. I still felt groggy with a slight headache. I walked into the bathroom and looked in the mirror. I was pale and haggard looking. I thought to myself, it's only one day and dress warmly - you're a tough guy. I popped two Tylenol, eat breakfast and hit the road. 

My battle with the bug was coming close to an end. He would be vanquished from my body. The coffee did wonders as I felt a surge of energy. The thoughts of a good day of fishing was giving me a rush of adrenaline. No stinking cold was going to keep me on the sidelines. I exit the freeway and it was a brief drive through suburbia. The McMansions gave way to the long winding roads and surrounding forest of the metro park. I pulled in to see a group of anglers suiting up. It didn't take much thought to where they would be fishing. They eyed me as I pulled out the gear and once they caught sight of the centerpin, they went back to talking amongst themselves. They felt I would be competing for spots. Generally fly fishermen feel more at ease whenever they see one using a pin. I fish water that they never would try attempting. 


I was well dressed for the elements and I had my flask of whiskey to give a spark whenever I felt the need for it. The walk to the river helped loosen and rid my lungs of phlegm. The river was slightly up and I passed the group of anglers that clustered at the first hole. I suspected that they never fished this section of the river. I proceeded to cross over and I looked back and all of them had there eyes trained on me. They were waiting to see if I would plunge into a unknown hole. At 6'0 tall, the water came up to my waist, but the bottom was all gravel and the current wasn't terribly strong. Once over, I knew the others would eventually cross over. 

First spot was the yapping dog hole. Nearly every time I fished this spot, I'm greeted by the most obnoxious dogs. They won't stop barking until you leave. They never shut up and their owner never seems to care. After a while it becomes unbearable and there have been times when I left despite the good fishing. After 10 minutes my head starts to pound. I'm tempted to pick up a rock and fling across the pool. It's almost nine in the morning and you would think the owner would stick his hear outside and tell them shut up - no. The guy probably hates anglers, but the nice tax abatement from the county for preserving riverine habitat is too good to give up. Houses here start at $700,000 and well into the millions. 

The yapping dog hole surrender four nice fish and I'm off to the next spot. The cold crisp air seems to help unclog my head. Still its a miserable morning with dark grey skies. Spring seems so far away. The water temperature is in the low 40s and some fish might of started to spawn. I examine one gravel bed and I don't notice any redds. The fish are probably lying in the pools and holes, waiting for the sun to come out and warm the water. 


The next pool I'm fishing starts to yield fish and that makes the aches feel a whole better. A little victory swig and I feel the slow burn of the whiskey. So far this morning I haven't anybody and I'm perfectly fine with that. It's a good thing that the river isn't high because times my legs feel rubbery. Another gravel bed and no fish. The pool above use to be a great spot, but over the years, it started to fill in and has become nothing more than a sandy bottom. But, I will toss a sac to see if anybody's home. After 20 minutes, I have no takers. 

I hit the last spot because I don't have the energy. It's another of my money holes and on the second drift, I have a hard take down. I watch a large fresh hen come to the surface and she immediately bolts downstream. She doesn't go that far as I steer her onto the rocks. A bright silver hen and when I lift her, I notice her stomach is tight. If she had some color, I'll bet as soon as I lifted her, she would be spitting eggs. It will probably take a couple of weeks before the eggs start to loosen. 

It's almost noon and I'm over double digits. My stomach starts growling and I need to pop a couple more Tylenol. I head back and pass the group of anglers who are still camped out at the first hole. I'm not in the mood to strike up a conservation and I quickly slip by them. There are too engrossed with their drifts and I hit the trail - my stomach is demanding food. Even though I'm in a metropark, it's takes all but 8 minutes to go up the hill and to the nearest fast food joint. I gooble down a cheeseburger and some fries and its back down to the park. I go farther upstream to another pool and park by the field. The burger and fries did the trick and I feel a hop in my stride. The pool is vacant, but I do wonder if it was worked over in the morning. I managed to pop a couple of nice males and that was it. 

A 14 fish day keeps the doctor away. My body feels chilled and I stop for a coffee. The first sip immediately warms me up. I take my time driving home and 40 minutes later I'm home. My head is clogged up and I apply some Vick's. I lie on the bed and I'm out within five minutes. Amazing what a good day of fishing can do. 

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