Well the Chief and I headed out with D for another day of fishing the following Sunday. Thanks to the persistent heat, the water was scorching and the day started slow. But it ended on a high note.
You get what you pay for and I was trying to cast a bit further than my gear really permitted. I spent at least the first hour spending more time fixing my line than anything else. I had started trying to tie my own flies the week before, I was desperate to catch a fish on one I had tied. I haven't gotten a nibble yet with a chartreuse Lefty's Indestructible Woolly Bugger (the linked image is pretty close).
On the bright side, the week before, I had lost a Clouser Minnow when my tippet broke after a couple of casts (my belief is that the 5x tippet I was using was just too small for the #1/0 hook. I was kind of bummed when it happened, because it was the second fly I had tied, it looked pretty sharp, and I had intended to use it as a memento. All I wanted to do was catch one fish with it.
Well, today, that Clouser Minnow was the first fish I caught. It was lying in the mud, in the middle of an old boot print from where I was standing when I lost it to begin with. Now I am kind of wandering if I didn't manage to get it caught in my boot prior to casting or something, but I am still going with the lesson of using the correct size tippet and leader for the fly size.
After failing to break the ice for an hour, I finally jumped in the Jon boat, and began moving about the pond. Tying on a popper, I finally got some strikes and then pulled in a bluegill. The day was a success. After pulling in two more, I finally took the boat out and returned to the bank.
D had already given up and had gone for a swim up the hill. She spent a bit too much time in the sun and came back absolutely roasted.
Meanwhile, the Chief pulled in the smallest largemouth I have seen in a long time, maybe three inches long. At least he was in the game now, too. I think he pulled in a couple of more.
As the day wore on, I finally switched to a #10 Prince Nymph, the same one that had already put me well into double digits. I really like this fly. Pay dirt. I caught a 7" smallmouth. I then pulled in a 13" smallmouth right away, immediately thinking he might make dinner the next day.
The Chief taunted me a bit about my decision to keep it. He thought I might get sad or change my mind after not catching anymore. Unknown to him, I already had my eye and another, as I shot back, "Oh, I'm not too worried about that. I'm going to be catching some more. I cast my fly perfectly, dropping the nymph on top of the bass, and landed it in less than ten seconds. I felt like a guilty cheater.
I moved down the bank, and about five minutes later had another keeper. I thought I was on a roll, but I couldn't seem to set another hook. That's how it goes sometimes.
All in all, it had been a successful day. As we loaded up in the truck to head home, I mentioned to Chief and D that I was prepared for the day when I didn't get a bite and they were hauling them in like crazy. That's when the Chief said something to me that I don't think I will ever forget. He said don't worry about it; he thought I was a better fisherman than him, period, and he didn't attribute it to anything else.
The truth is I don't agree with him, and I think it has a bit more to do with luck. But the fact is that he wasn't just blowing smoke. I also realized going forward that he would be asking me for advice and really wanting it. For what more could a son ask?
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