I was out the door before first light hoping to reacquaint myself with more Shad; I was laid up last week so I picked an access point at random hoping I could “slop” my way into fish…

“Slop fishing” is the time honored method of crystal ball gazing, wherein the angler takes a lottery-like chance at actually catching something – figuring “there’s water there, it’s got to hold fish.”

For resident fish it works swimmingly, for migratory fish it works not at all, part of the reason Old Guys stay in the truck and young guys don’t.

Through weakness or ardor, I failed to consult the river gauge while loading the vehicle – and gazing at the now swollen torrent Poppa’s words rang in my ear, “Kid, if you don’t use your head – you’ll have to use your back.”

He was off by a foot, and I was arse-deep after tip toeing only 20 feet from the bank, and waist deep after a step further. I dutifully sprayed a shooting head over the water ahead of me, but outside of the fervent hope that deeper water meant the fish were closer, it was a vain attempt.

I chewed on my lower lip and contemplated the “Great Unforgivable” – the mystery that all fishermen puzzle over throughout their angling career – why it is that people with palatial homes on the river, never use it …

Every fishermen faces this quandary, resolving that “if it were my house, I’d look over the terrace, grab a rod, and kick some butt.” The reality is that with a mortgage that size you have to work weekends, and fishing is something you’ll get back to after your second heart attack.

See you on the public side ..