|Don't be fooled - the channel is about eight feet deep. A few fish hang out here.|
I have to admit, I'm becoming fond of my "near work" fishing spot. It's been an experiment in progress, but a good one. I've caught fish every time I've visited the spot, regardless of weather, time of day, et cetera, and on the few occasions that I've caught less than a dozen fish, those "less than a dozen" are bass and pickerel.
This is one of those times of the year when I just want to catch fish. Any fish will do, well, almost any fish. It's an exciting time of year, too - one that inevitably finds me waiting for my breakthrough session, whereafter I'll be content to work on my flycasting because I've already caught 40 nice fish. I'm proud (and lucky) to say that I really do have those days. As in, maybe two per year! But I've packed my fly tackle on at least 5 fishing trips this year......and it still hasn't been broken out. Soon.....soon (maybe).
The short answer is "more." I thought for just a second about how strong the crappie were hammering my lures, how hard they were fighting, and how much fun it had been. For really the first time in 2012, I was actually enjoying myself while fishing. Not just excited, not just amped for the one big fish I caught. Honestly having a good time. As I was walking out of the park and its myriad of security precautions, I decided, "Nawww. I'm gonna fish a while longer." And so I did.
The fish were receptive to my quest, as several black crappie ran out the drag, went aerial, forced me to work close on heavy cover, and short-struck my lures time after time after time. It was awesome fun. With another 15 or so fish caught and released, I started to notice that daylight was getting away from me a little bit.
I kept fishing for a few more minutes - hey, maybe a bass would come shallow for me. Then, with my polarized sunglasses still on, I caught a glimpse of something bright in the sky, in the wrong direction for it to be the sun. I looked up to see.....
Oops. A little later than I thought. I hastily tossed my gear in the truck, and stopped at our local yuppie organic store to pick up a half dozen bright pink gerber daisies for my wife. All was forgiven. Or at least, hasn't yet been brought up in reference to another unrelated situation. I'll take it.