Monday, August 30, 2010
Pardon a brief interruption to the riveting Breakaway narrative, but, as much fun as it is to travel to new and exciting fisheries, there’s nothing like a good bucketmouth, or two, from your own back yard.
The current return of blistering heat and the accompanying high-pressure cell made any significant fishing success unlikely, but reasonable water levels, cooler evenings, and an early start gave me a glimmer of a chance. I’d have to find them early, though.
The woods are late-season ragged. Gone are the crisp greens of spring and the lush fullness of mid-summer. Things are looking parched and rough along my path to the Haw, unvisited for more than a month. A couple of new blowdowns obscure the trail even more than usual and the spiders had webbed things up pretty good.
I was on the water by 7:30 and had two good fish in the first thirty minutes, both on a big white popper, before the sun started finding the water over the riverbank tree cover. And two it remained until I was ready to step out, a couple hours later, when a third took my popper as I approached my egress. It was a fine parting surprise.
Fishing far and wide is fun, but sometimes there’s no place like home.