Today is the Day

I had a great 2 hours of fishing today. The fish weren't quite awake when I arrived. I didn't see a buffalo or redhorse during the entire first half of my walk. I got to the pool right before the I-40 bridge, the pool that had given me many fish over the last two weeks...not even a bluegill. A guy across the river asked, "Are there any trout here?" I replied, "No. It's too hot right now." He looked puzzled. "But....that's a trout pole. What are you trying to catch?" I paused. "I can catch ANYTHING with this. I'm going for carp today."

I walked under the bridge and out onto the dirt path. Still, I saw no fish. Finally, before having to climb the few downed trees in my way, I hooked a small buffalo. I landed it quickly, and it let me know by splashing mud across my shirt. Almost 4 pounds. A decent start to the day.

After releasing the first fish of the day, I climbed over the last two downed trees and had finally reached the spot, the buffalo/carpsucker mecca. I spooked more fish than I care to admit, but finally got a good sized one to devour my size 16 pink worm, My Pink Thing. Instead of getting the first run out, it just sat there. I felt like I was pulling in a cinder block. It did this, running for only a few yards at a time, for over 15 minutes. A crowd started to form on the running path above the area I fished. I wondered what they were thing. "Is that a fly fisherman catching rough fish?"

 After nearly half an hour of what seemed like a stalemate, it finally made its move, the first true run. It took nearly all of my fly line out. I reeled it back in. That made it mad. The second run left me staring at bright white backing. It sat, again, in the deep waters across the river. I finally had to change arms. Lactic acid in my entire arm had left my wrist frozen in place. I switched hands several times. It ran up and down the river, and I ran up and down the muddy bank.

Nearly 50 minutes of fighting, and it finally stopped resisting. I quickly pulled it to the water's edge, and stopped. My eyes widened. I had to take a breath or two as I gazed at the beauty. This fish was stout. The biggest fish of the year so far was looking back at me, exhausted and wondering what I'd do next. I took the proper measurements, then decided not to put any more stress on the big buffalo, releasing it to live another day.

another 11 pounder

Before leaving, I went back to my usual perch below the dam. I spooked a few redhorse and hooked a crappie or two. I made one last scan of the water to my left, noticing a small Drum tailing. Fly South had recently posted the new leader, 0.71 pounds, of the "Smallest Fish" category for this year's Carp Tournament. At 0.48 pounds, I believe I am now a new contender.

Yet another victim of My Pink Thing

Today is the day. My dad will be in town for a little over a week. I haven't seen him in a year. I haven't fished with him in a year. An experienced saltwater fisherman, he hopes to tackle the many species of freshwater fish Tennessee has to offer. I will be giving him the task of catching 20 different species of fish during his stay. He wants to taste Crappie. I want him to catch a Grad Slam at the Caney Fork. Whatever the outcome, it will be an enjoyable week of non-stop fishing with the most important influence in my life. And maybe, just maybe, I will finally be able to teach HIM a thing or two about fishing.

Tight lines and fair hooks.