Brother Bass

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v2.../IMG_0716a.jpg

My brother Kevin drove up from Madtown today. We decided to drive over
to the Yiminy for a little fishing. When we got there the fish were on
a tear. Kevin uses a casting rod for most of his fishing and the
possibility of a musky had him tossing 3/8 oz. baits and larger on a
one piece Loomis rod.

His first cast took a fish. He had more hits on his next few casts. I
almost snipped off the tan Diver I had on. I was going to replace it
with a chartreuse one to match the color of the plug he was using. But
before that could happen a fish popped it. Then another. They seemed
to be holding in deeper water, not around the big rocks and other
structure. Once we had that figured out it was almost too easy. I
think that the fish had to be hungry... really, really hungry. I had
two take the Divers so deep I had to cut them off and leave them in
the bass's mouths. I don't think I'd ever had that happen before on
that particular fly.

Eventually the fishing slowed to normal and then to an even slower
pace. We fished up around an old logging dam and into the huge holding
pond behind it. Kevin had a small musky follow his spinner and I
hooked a bass by accident, it just took my rabbit strip fly while I
wasn't paying attention and swam off. Cool.

It was obvious the ponded river was heavily fished, lots of forked
sticks and fishermen's trails. The water in much of it was over our
heads and we had to cling to the shore just to get to areas from which
to cast. We fished the inflow above the still water without much
success. Then making our way back down towards the car we again
started picking up fish. We had returned to top water baits and, in
the end, caught all our fish using them. Divers for me and plugs for
Kevin. After a few hours the hot sun had had its way with us and we
loaded up and drove back to Merrill. I kept on dozing off on the way
home (Kevin was driving) and almost as soon as he left for the south,
I napped on the couch.

When I was a kid my brother was virtually my only fishing partner. We
cruised the isolated bottom lands where the Black River flowed through
our farm and the neighbors' farms. With our Mitchell 300's we'd cast
Tiny Torpedoes, Daredevils, Swiss Swings and the new, exotic Rapalas.
We'd wade down through the tannin stained pools and riffles and catch
mostly small northerns and bass. Once and awhile a walleye would be
pried from the deeper holes and be brought home in triumph. But in
reality we were fairly primitive fishermen, barely beyond the stick
and bent pin. We'd cast and cast but the real ability to read the
water lay years in the future and was learned, by me at least, in
water that flowed much colder than the warm water of the Black in
August. But that was in the future, the place where our lives would
grow separate and morph in unimaginable ways. Today that same future
found us two farm boys, grown up and graying, fishing together again.
Splashing and slipping through tea colored water. Catching the olive
sided fish of our childhood. For the afternoon being brothers again.

Not such a bad place, the future.

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v2.../IMG_0725a.jpg


hth

g.c.

George Cleveland typed:
snip
Not such a bad place, the future.

Nor the recent past, it seems. Thanks for the ride-along, George.
--
TL,
Tim
(come to think of it, the present is all *that* bad, is it?)
-------------------------
http://css.sbcma.com/timj

On Sep 5, 11:19?pm, George Cleveland
wrote:
http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v2.../IMG_0716a.jpg

My brother Kevin drove up from Madtown today. We decided to drive over
to the Yiminy for a little fishing. When we got there the fish were on
a tear. Kevin uses a casting rod for most of his fishing and the
possibility of a musky had him tossing 3/8 oz. baits and larger on a
one piece Loomis rod.

His first cast took a fish. He had more hits on his next few casts. I
almost snipped off the tan Diver I had on. I was going to replace it
with a chartreuse one to match the color of the plug he was using. But
before that could happen a fish popped it. Then another. They seemed
to be holding in deeper water, not around the big rocks and other
structure. Once we had that figured out it was almost too easy. I
think that the fish had to be hungry... really, really hungry. I had
two take the Divers so deep I had to cut them off and leave them in
the bass's mouths. I don't think I'd ever had that happen before on
that particular fly.

Eventually the fishing slowed to normal and then to an even slower
pace. We fished up around an old logging dam and into the huge holding
pond behind it. Kevin had a small musky follow his spinner and I
hooked a bass by accident, it just took my rabbit strip fly while I
wasn't paying attention and swam off. Cool.

It was obvious the ponded river was heavily fished, lots of forked
sticks and fishermen's trails. The water in much of it was over our
heads and we had to cling to the shore just to get to areas from which
to cast. We fished the inflow above the still water without much
success. Then making our way back down towards the car we again
started picking up fish. We had returned to top water baits and, in
the end, caught all our fish using them. Divers for me and plugs for
Kevin. After a few hours the hot sun had had its way with us and we
loaded up and drove back to Merrill. I kept on dozing off on the way
home (Kevin was driving) and almost as soon as he left for the south,
I napped on the couch.

When I was a kid my brother was virtually my only fishing partner. We
cruised the isolated bottom lands where the Black River flowed through
our farm and the neighbors' farms. With our Mitchell 300's we'd cast
Tiny Torpedoes, Daredevils, Swiss Swings and the new, exotic Rapalas.
We'd wade down through the tannin stained pools and riffles and catch
mostly small northerns and bass. Once and awhile a walleye would be
pried from the deeper holes and be brought home in triumph. But in
reality we were fairly primitive fishermen, barely beyond the stick
and bent pin. We'd cast and cast but the real ability to read the
water lay years in the future and was learned, by me at least, in
water that flowed much colder than the warm water of the Black in
August. But that was in the future, the place where our lives would
grow separate and morph in unimaginable ways. Today that same future
found us two farm boys, grown up and graying, fishing together again.
Splashing and slipping through tea colored water. Catching the olive
sided fish of our childhood. For the afternoon being brothers again.

Not such a bad place, the future.

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v2.../IMG_0725a.jpg

hth

g.c.

Nice George, very nice.
Where were the Bass when I was there with Wolf?
Joel