Thanks to Mark Eisendrath for the following stream report:
We all headed down to the Gun on Sunday and the Sulphers were flat-out partyin’. I didn’t have my rig with me as I still want my boy, Tappen to have my full attention as he is a dedicated outdoorsman in the making.We concentrated on working the nice, long trough just upstream from the old ropeswing above the Corbett Rd bridge. Again, he was on my shoulders as I waded so he could get positioned properly. His casting and forethought in troutfishing far outweighs his short few years on this planet. No action despite the robust Sulphur activity-I’m guessing by the numbers of bugs in the air that there was a lengthy emerger period in which our lovely browns gourged themselves to bursting.Tappen continues to impress me in his casting and patience and this was no exception. In a series of beautiful, long casts he read the water perfectly and retrieved his line with no activity from our prey. But right when my waders alerted me to the fact that my patching attempt was less than perfect, a BIG brown rolled just under his line. Many casts later he asked why the fish didn’t strike again. I flashed back to a magical night on the Pigeon river in Michigan when I was not much older than Tappen. I had missed a lunker, and my Father who had seen the take as well, endulged me and exhibited uncharacteric patience and watched my panicky attempts to get the fish to rise again. I sulked all the way home. I remember an efervescent bluegrass lick on the radio of our ’65 scout’s single speaker as my dad patted my shoulder and said: The big ones don’t get big by being stupid.
I don’t know what fishing has to teach us, but I think it’s something we need to know.