- Wed Jul 24, 2019 9:13 am
I went back and did the camping in Jellystone this past weekend with some
friends people who invited me knowing I would show up early to grab a campsite.
I caught a few chubs in the chub pond on Friday morning. As a family was passing I had them make a pitcher of one.
Friday afternoon we fished Pop Rear and Lebron. I caught probably half a dozen on Lebron, missed or lost a few, had some refusals — the usual.
I only made a pitcher of the Pop Rear.
Saturday we walked up to Bog #1 on Slop Crick. I like Bog #2 and #3 better but cripples and the elderly were along and they don’t walk so well.
On the walk up there were 7 murder mongrel pups and momma murder mongrel on the trail. Cute little things.
Crappy pitchers, didn’t get on of mom:
I caught a half dozen or so, missed a couple, refusals — the usual. I broke off a slab of a slab, as well.
Went to the Lebron in the afternoon and I didn’t fish.
Went home Sunday morning.
I didn’t fish all that hard — fishing was steady, not lights out, but steady enough a lot of fish could have been caught. As I get older, I find that my desire to fish hard wanes. This is both true in cases where I am fishing with a group and fishing alone as I most often do. It it the act of ‘going fishing’, especially when getting there a involves a long walk, that is the draw rather than the fishing itself. I find myself walking miles up a mountain only to set upon a high spot overlooking a lake to reflect a few hours, perfectly content and without even rigging up, because there aren't fish cruising the shoreline or rising.
I am not a 'purist' by any means -- rather, I feel at this point I have already caught all the fish. I am perfectly happy catching them again, only I want to make the effort in the manners I enjoy most, otherwise enjoying the silence suits me just fine.
Anyways, good weekend with some
old friends people who sometimes call me so they don’t have to wake early to get a campsite.