It’s why I have to whisper encouragement to all them Blueliner’s when they pretend they want to come fish with me …
I hear that molar-on-molar grind and attempt to restore their calm before they hurt themselves in a fit of piqué. Trout fishermen being used to fishing only in the first three dimensions; simple rectangles and polygons, a bit of trailing weed, perhaps even a low hanging branch – yet when I mention the fly needs to make that interior eddy by the ashtray they get all confused and squirrely on me.
Trout fishing being much simpler than a four door Toyota, which requires a caddy to whisper slope and bearing, sink rates and waveforms. Given the darkest and deepest lies are always a complex object, offering confounding currents due to entangling roots and tubers, and sprinkled with a leavening of decaying head rest.
European engineering, multidimensional complex cast, especially if you want that natural sweep into the interior where all the big bass hide.
A hookup in the passenger seat induces a bit of angler panic, regardless of size. It’s the wireform of the seats that corrodes into rusty sharp stuff – all of which eats tippet instantly.
Not much life in the river these days, the flood having extincted all the fish and moved the cars from their former bankside imbed. I still carry a rod with me, but its only occasionally that something presents itself.
Mostly its the exercise I’m after, given the heat and miles of bank offer the opportunity to restore that lean predacious angler that doesn’t grunt while pulling on his booties …
In the Arkansas White River tailwater, in the “river-left” channel just above the bottom of the island at the Rim Shoal C&R area, there used to be a midchannel submerged washing machine. Nice and white, so it was visible at most every water level. Everyone fishing the area knew it as a landmark and as a place where one or two rainbows could always be picked up. Never a brown or cutt, just rainbows. Commonly overheard at local watering-holes: “Took a nice 15-incher in front of the washing machine.” And everyone know what was meant. Alas, the flood a couple of year ago took it downstream, where it’s now housing for a school of crappies down in the Delta. That’s a bad part of getting old – – all the good ole places are going away.
washing machine!? I don’t know if I can beat that. Took some steelhead out of a camp trailer that washed down the drink from a campground years back. The article brought back some good times.