I essentially dropped off the face of the earth for a bit - and aside from a quick trip to the Taylor C&R over the Memorial Day weekend and the Kid's Day event in mid June, my life has been devoid of fishing-related activities.
About the only thing keeping me sane is the memory of sticking and landing a fat, squishy 28 inch bow on the Taylor, along with a few other choice slabs.
But, like Marlon Brando riding a moped, that memory is only going to go so far before it falls apart...and folks, let me tell you something, it's coming apart faster than Rod Blagojevich's defense strategy.
In other words, I need to fish. STAT.
However, if there was ever a time to be mired up to my eyeballs in work and unable to wet a line, it has been the past few weeks - with weather that's been more unpredictable than the recent NCAA conference re-alignments and rivers raging harder than Mike "I'm a Man!" Gundy during his (now) infamous rant, I'd like to think that I haven't missed out on too much.
So on the first weekend that I've had free in a while, there was absolutely no question as to where I was headed - the Canyon.
Little dirty ponds full of stockers, Blue Gill and Bass are cool, but I'm a man! I'm 40 and I need some manly tail-water action. And that, my sticky little friends, is the catalyst to getting up at 3 am on a Saturday, even though I can't remember the last time I've had a full 6 hours of sleep.
Gear? Check. Breakfast biscuit with extra bacon? Check. Ice-cold coke and a new can o' dip? Damn straight.
When I first got to the water, I saw that the flows were down to about average for this time of year - a tad off-color, but nothing to worry about. And there were fish everywhere and some of them were in the large-ish, BBF category.
For the most part, they were in shallow water within 5-10 feet of the bank, in seams that we anglers live for. No fancy mending or creative drifting required, but do you think I could stick any of them? Hell no. And it wasn't for lack of trying or lousy presentations, either.
At one point, late in the morning, I had a group of fish (8 of the SOBs) bunched together within a run about 4 feet from where I was standing. I fished to them for what seemed like hours and hit nary a one. Nada. Zip. Zero.
You want to talk frustrating? Try it and see if a few choice words don't fly out of your mouth. It even got to the point where I was talking to them...pleading with them, and trying to coax them into feeding on what I was throwing their way.
But, like Eva during one of my caffeine-fueled rants, they chose to ignore me.
The really strange thing is, most of the fish I saw today were not actively feeding like one would expect - they were low and showing little to no signs of movement. Every once in a while you would see one move slightly and eat, but that was the exception rather than the rule.
Now, I wonder...the moon was big and we actually experienced a partial lunar eclipse around 5 am...coincidence? Perhaps...or maybe just a convenient excuse for me to cover up a fly fishing failure of EPIC proportions?
The three that I did see actively moving up and down in the columns I managed to stick - so the old man can still take a fish when they're showing signs of life, which is a relief. Had I been completely shut out, I would have been cranky as hell and feeling a bit insecure, since I know there's no little blue pill that can solve fishing problems.
Anyway, next up, is a well-earned vacation that should find me on the Provo and Frying Pan, with a possible trip out to Bigerrfish's neck of the woods for some potential hog rolling on the Gunni.
And rest assured, I'll be back in the Canyon within the next week as well, to dish out some payback...oh yes, I will have revenge...because I'm a man. I'm 40. And I can do that.