I feel a little naughty every time I do it. Lately, I’ve
been throwing flies for carp. Big
fuckers. The kind of fish that you see
swimming around and wonder if it’s gonna jump out of the lake and bite
you. One rammed into my foot after I
spooked it, and I yelped like a little girl.
When you hook into one, the reel screams like a hummingbird.
Like all good fish stories, there’s a part I’ve left
out. You’ve got to get past the fact
that you’re likely in some urban lake with litter scattered along the shore. And you’ve got to disregard the
bottom-feeding yuck-factor of a carp. When
that fly rod doubles over, though, you’ll go back to the fun.
Hooking into one |
When my grandfather got remarried a few weeks ago, he gave me an excuse to try to import that Colorado carp habit to the pond in Missouri.
Colorado Carp Habit |
We were all thrilled that he remained active and vital after
her death. He took a road trip out to
long-forgotten Air Force bases peppering the West., stopping to see family
along the way. Then he headed back to
Kansas City. He had a girlfriend
waiting.
He was reengaged something like 6 months after her death. What can I say? That guy likes being married. Fortunately for me, he also likes the farm.
My mom suggested that we include a stop there after the
wedding. After the marriage ceremony, we
eased the rented Kia off of County Road N and into the driveway.
The springtime trophy for the biggest fish (beautiful environs or otherwise) easily goes to Dave. He just landed a 40-plus pound carp here on the Front Range.
No comments:
Post a Comment