The new magazine in your mailboxes today and on the newsstands shortly will have a restaurant review of mine on page 31 and 32.
Last year I tried out a new reel and absolutely loved it. It went through cold, hot, wet, mud, sand and went swimming a couple times and didn't skip a beat. Daiwa Ballistic on the best rod ever the St. Croix Avid. It shouldn't surprise anyone that I bought the exact same rig again.
Have another avid coming...is on back order...going to put another ballistic on it.
My 2021 arsenal. I love paddle handles and love Daiwas...One Penn leftover I loan out when someone needs a rod.
Need new line on all.
I have fished this stretch for what seems forever. Two hundred yards downstream I caught my first trout at age five. I am certain that I was given one of my lessons on stream by my father on this stretch. He typically gave a what is that speech at least once during an outing. The lessons varied from what kind of tree or wildflower was streamside to being a good steward of the outdoors.
His lessons taught me to love the places trout lived. He held them in high regard, They were almost holy places to him. He was not a religious person. When he spoke on stream it seemed like a sermon almost. My mom required me to go to church often and my Dad's speeches seemed like they came from the pulpit. He always told me to take it all in and always respect the outdoors.
This summer I was wading up this stream. The weeds were too high to walk the bank. I took a good friend with me to my special stretch of water. I wanted to share this place with him that evoked such strong memories of my father. My dad left me over half a century ago but his spirit lives on when I am on stream.
I had a special hole that I wanted to show my friend. I was bursting with anticipation prior to getting there. My mind was replaying ancient memories almost like a slideshow. I remembered the first time there with my dad. I was five years old again. My trip to the past was abruptly terminated. Our trek had a hurdle.
It was a wow moment. There in the tiny head water of my stream of time there was an obstruction. What had caused this to happen? It had endured countless rain events, even huge floods through its lifetime. I was certain my dad and I had walked in these same tracks decades prior.
At first I was sad looking at the giant felled tree. My mind was rushing to and fro from years past. This tree was for sure older than me and it now laid across my stream. I paused and gave it the respect it deserved and pressed on to my final destination. Call it a metaphor or ramblings of an old gray trout slayer but it is a prominent memory in my book of life.
Headed to Crawford County to smaller water. It was cloudy when I left the house at 8:45am and was bright sunlight when I arrived stream side.
I picked a short stretch because my back is still bothering me.
Ended up with eleven browns in this range.
I ended the outing with hook jawed male.
Was done in an hour.
Visited my mom, dad and sister at the cemetery.
Fished at the dam in Gays Mills for 45 minutes. The village worker mowing told me I was 2 hours late. Asked him late for what. Late to catch the 29.5 inch walleye a guy had caught this morning there.
No hits...lost three lures.
"This virtual "road not taken" was almost magically there before me. There it was just there on the other side of the waterway. I sat down on the stream bank for a good long while and admired the steps that Father Time had cut in the rock ledge with the help of Mother Nature. The steps seemed so uniform and almost manmade. This anomaly was created by 1000s of years of water assaulting the bedrock of time. I was hypnotized by its grandeur. It was so quiet sitting there. There was no wind and not a bird chirping or car or truck rumbling by to ruin the moment."