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And a Carp Wriggles Through It, Part 4

Sunrise over the croplands.

Day Two. The sun is high, the birds gently sing, and the cicadas buzz. It was pretty much Day One. It was glorious. And I was back for more.

I seeee you...

I started moving along the rivercourse, searching for signs of active carp. In places they were moving through water so shallow that I could see their v-wake from over a hundred yards downstream.

I never get tired of the game - first, find the fish. Then, somehow, get close to the fish. Then, even less likely, fool the fish into thinking that the fly is actually worth eating. Don't miss the hookset, don't break it off, don't straighten the hook... And then, maybe, you'll have the opportunity to hold a living, gasping, wriggling representative from another world. A link to the element that we have explored the least of them all. I love this game. The previous day had ended when I had come upon a large logjam piled up in a hole that the river had carved deeply when the water raged. Carp became more and more numerous as I had moved along and I had ended up landing 8 or 9 and losing many more. You know those days when you know, you KNOW you're going to get into the fish well? Yeah. I love those days too.
Once, I heard a protracted commotion upstream out of sight. Coming around the corner I saw a carp that had miscalculated and had himself highcentered on lip of sandy muck. I chuckled to myself as the fish gave a great heave and finally slipped off the bar.
Later I arrived at that spot and studied the lattice of slide trails going across the shallow spine of the river. You could see the network of carp tracks heading from river right to river left; the banks had shin deep water hugging them whilst the middle of the river was leaning towards dry. The only way across was a gutsy charge across the skinny.
Carp being carp, they just wriggled through it.
And on to the next spot.
Sweet Release

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