FISHING WITH SCHMOES- The Best Day Ever, Part II
The quick among you will have noted that there has not been a "Part I" to this post. As I wrote before, I can't really tell the first part of this story just yet. I made the executive decision to write the second part first, just so I can get it on paper.
Last August, I was pulling a family-free weekend, and I had made arrangements to meet with my brother, whom we shall call "J", and our very good friend, whom we shall call "Larry" to go fishing on Saturday. I had also made arrangements to ride along with the narcotics team from my primary law enforcement agency on Friday night. Riding with the narcs turned into one of life's great adventures, which is "Part I" of the story. Suffice it to say, we saw a bunch of interesting stuff, made a couple of really cool tactical arrests, travelled many miles in a great hurry, watched a SWAT team (not ours) work, and found kilos of cocaine. A great night of law enforcement by any standard. But it took all night...
So I called J on his cell phone and told him that I had been up all night, that I wasn't going home, and that I would meet him at the pre-designated rally point at a convenience store on the way to the fishing grounds. J and Larry were already there when I got there, and they immediately started into breaking my chops over being late and being bleary-eyed. I relayed to them a story of great adventure, which had just happened. Larry used to be a cop, so he was seemingly impressed. J was more interested in getting to the fishing. I had to agree. We loaded up in our cars and headed out to the chosen spot.
J and I, being brothers, have fished together for our entire lives. Larry has been going with us for about 20 years. We used to go fishing almost every weekend. Back in the day, someone was always able to cook up some scheme to find the fish, and we would execute someones scheme on either Friday, Saturday, or Sunday. Maybe all three. We were WAY into fishing. Some might describe it as "pathology". We tied our own flies. We cast our own lead weight parts. We had our reels lined at the fishing store to get better spools. "Must See TV" meant 6 regularly scheduled fishing shows. Larry started pouring his own rubber worms. Fishing occupied most of our free time, if not literally, then in time spent thinking about fishing or doing things in support of fishing.
These things having been said, we are not now, and have never been, those fancy-schmancy types of fishermen. To describe our style of fishing, we coined the term "Fishing Schmoes". A schmoe is to be contrasted with the guy on a speckle-painted bass boat (you know, red with sparkles, 275hp motor precariously hanging on the back, live wells, 50 poles, etc.). We were always the opposite of that. To understand our fishing, you have to know our prey.
After a very short time in our fishing careers, we decided that the best thing to fish for is the smallmouth bass. The smallmouth bass has been called "the gamest fish that swims". If you have never seen one of our bronzeback buddies, please take a moment to Google "smallmouth bass" now. OK, so it is a beautiful fish. They fight hard. They take some skill to catch. In Virginia, they live in rivers. We are very lucky, no, blessed, to have within easy reach four of the best smallmouth rivers in the world. Optimal conditions for smallmouth fishing are a cool, not cold river, which runs 4 to 8 feet per second, 1 to 5 feet deep, over a rocky bottom with some boulders or larger rocks to provide some cover. Around here, we have that in spades. We can get to the western sides (i.e., above the fall line) of the Potomac River, the Shenandoah River, the Rappahannock River, and the James River, all in two hours or less.
The preferred schmoe method for catching fish is to wade into the river, walk around, and cast for fish. This is different from what is seen on TV, where gentrified anglers use every technical advantage to get some fish. In our world, there are no fancy waders; just sneakers. No fancy vest; just a fanny pack stuffed with gear and slung across your chest. No creel; if you catch something you want to keep, you can tie a stringer to your pants. Big-brim hats. Sunscreen. It seems simple, but walking around in chest-deep class 1 rapids is less than easy. It leads to various problems. The rocks are usually slick, and the footing accordingly bad. There are always rocks that you can (and will) smash your shins into. The weather plays into the game too. A change from sun to clouds can leave you freezing cold in the middle of summer. The river can rise quickly, leaving you stuck on an island or on the other side. Getting out into the river is the only real way to catch those fish. The current and bottom conditions make boating difficult, though not impossible. In short, we look terrible, but get good results. We thought that it would be a good idea to do a TV show of our own, called "Fishing With Schmoes", where we could show regular folks, with a budget (both for money and time), how to have a good time fishing without the $100,000.00 investment. We would talk about little scenes or how to get shots of something funny.
I have always favored walking in the rivers. I feel like it washes my soul clean.
For years we fished like that. That's not to say that we didn't do other stuff. We fished from boats on the Chesapeake. We did float trips down our rivers. We fished ponds and impoundments from boats. It always came back to walking around in the river. We just figured that part of being a schmoe was suffering, whether it be from weather, pain, or other trauma. It was the cost of fishing glory.
Fishing glory has been hard to come by of late. In recent years, Larry, J and I have been forced to grow up. We all have grown-up lives to lead. Our Saturdays don't belong to us anymore. The concept of being able to fish twice in any weekend is laughable. Getting all three of us together at one time for anything has even been trouble. When this past August rolled around, we hadn't been fishing together in years. It was going to be a very happy day.
We arrived at our chosen spot. Our entry point would be a boat ramp on the Rapidan River. The Rapidan is a major tributary of the Rappahannock River, and this spot is very near the confluence of the rivers. The water was very low. In our style of fishing, this is a very good sign. With less water in the river, it is easier to get around because the water is generally shallower. With shallower water, the fish concentrate in the deeper spots. It is a formula for success.
Larry threw out a cast before any of us had our feet wet. He caught a fish on that first cast. We all smiled. We got into the river and walked out, heading upstream. We all had fish in hand within a few minutes. It was one of those days where everything worked. Whatever bait you had, that's fine, just throw it out there. We were fishing three radically different techniques with equal success, and having some fun. We cracked jokes on each other. We talked about other trips. We looked at animal tracks and at some birds. It was great. By lunchtime, we had caught about a hundred fish.
In contrast to our regular routine of eating damp sandwiches out of those triangular plastic boxes that you get from 7-11, J brought his travel grill and we had a hot lunch of hot dogs and sausages, along with all the fixings. I was soaking wet, I had sand in my shoes, a thumb with visible wear marks from unhooking fish, and a hot sandwich in hand. It was pretty much Nirvana.
After we ate, we stood around talking for a long time. Thinking back on it, we were catching up on each other. This was strange, because I never go more than a week or two without seeing these guys. There was something about being out there, in our goofy ghetto-fishing attire, out in the sun, having some fun. The sad part is, I think that we were all suffering from a giant case of the "nostalgias", and thinking things along the line of "you can never go home again".
Larry had to go home. J and I decided to stay. The fishing had been so good, I wanted to spend the afternoon using my fly rod. Catching smallmouth bass on a fly rod is one of my top five things to do in the world. I tied on a fly that I had made myself. It was several years old, but it looked good, and wasn't falling apart. J stayed with a little technique that he has developed for fishing soft plastics in a current. We went back out and slayed them.
I caught a bunch of fish. J caught not less than two-to-one on me. A couple of times, I caught myself just watching him fish. He has good eyes for spots and good feel for bait presentation. He "thinks like a fish", and is generally amazing that way. We walked downstream during the afternoon session, which is usually a faux pas, except that the river was so low, there would be no question of our ability to get back. Did I mention how cool it is to catch smallmouth on a fly rod? Yeah, well it's even better when you do in on stuff you made yourself. I basically achieved total fishing satisfaction that day.
We will never get back to the old days. I think that I finally realized this fact on that day. I also learned that we can still have a meaningful and enjoyable time, even with years in between fishing opportunities. In eight or ten years, my kids will be old enough to go out into the river on foot. I think that with Uncle J around, our best fishing days may still lie ahead. I will be especially happy if the kids want to take their old man out slipping and sliding on the rocks every weekend.
We got out of the river. I was dog-assed tired, having been awake for something like 40 hours straight. I came home and slept the sweet sleep of the dead, until I was finished. Where sleep is concerned, this is a very rare luxury any more. I woke up sometime in the late morning on Sunday, my great day having ended and a new one begun.
So in the final analysis, the best day ever took something more than two calendar days to complete. Oh well, when you have as many kick ass adventures and moments of poignancy as I did on that day, 24 hours can't hope to contain you.
Get out there and kick some ass, whatever it is that you do! I'll be back soon. Perhaps with a shorter post. Peace to all...Leave a comment.
DTXMATT12
Last August, I was pulling a family-free weekend, and I had made arrangements to meet with my brother, whom we shall call "J", and our very good friend, whom we shall call "Larry" to go fishing on Saturday. I had also made arrangements to ride along with the narcotics team from my primary law enforcement agency on Friday night. Riding with the narcs turned into one of life's great adventures, which is "Part I" of the story. Suffice it to say, we saw a bunch of interesting stuff, made a couple of really cool tactical arrests, travelled many miles in a great hurry, watched a SWAT team (not ours) work, and found kilos of cocaine. A great night of law enforcement by any standard. But it took all night...
So I called J on his cell phone and told him that I had been up all night, that I wasn't going home, and that I would meet him at the pre-designated rally point at a convenience store on the way to the fishing grounds. J and Larry were already there when I got there, and they immediately started into breaking my chops over being late and being bleary-eyed. I relayed to them a story of great adventure, which had just happened. Larry used to be a cop, so he was seemingly impressed. J was more interested in getting to the fishing. I had to agree. We loaded up in our cars and headed out to the chosen spot.
J and I, being brothers, have fished together for our entire lives. Larry has been going with us for about 20 years. We used to go fishing almost every weekend. Back in the day, someone was always able to cook up some scheme to find the fish, and we would execute someones scheme on either Friday, Saturday, or Sunday. Maybe all three. We were WAY into fishing. Some might describe it as "pathology". We tied our own flies. We cast our own lead weight parts. We had our reels lined at the fishing store to get better spools. "Must See TV" meant 6 regularly scheduled fishing shows. Larry started pouring his own rubber worms. Fishing occupied most of our free time, if not literally, then in time spent thinking about fishing or doing things in support of fishing.
These things having been said, we are not now, and have never been, those fancy-schmancy types of fishermen. To describe our style of fishing, we coined the term "Fishing Schmoes". A schmoe is to be contrasted with the guy on a speckle-painted bass boat (you know, red with sparkles, 275hp motor precariously hanging on the back, live wells, 50 poles, etc.). We were always the opposite of that. To understand our fishing, you have to know our prey.
After a very short time in our fishing careers, we decided that the best thing to fish for is the smallmouth bass. The smallmouth bass has been called "the gamest fish that swims". If you have never seen one of our bronzeback buddies, please take a moment to Google "smallmouth bass" now. OK, so it is a beautiful fish. They fight hard. They take some skill to catch. In Virginia, they live in rivers. We are very lucky, no, blessed, to have within easy reach four of the best smallmouth rivers in the world. Optimal conditions for smallmouth fishing are a cool, not cold river, which runs 4 to 8 feet per second, 1 to 5 feet deep, over a rocky bottom with some boulders or larger rocks to provide some cover. Around here, we have that in spades. We can get to the western sides (i.e., above the fall line) of the Potomac River, the Shenandoah River, the Rappahannock River, and the James River, all in two hours or less.
The preferred schmoe method for catching fish is to wade into the river, walk around, and cast for fish. This is different from what is seen on TV, where gentrified anglers use every technical advantage to get some fish. In our world, there are no fancy waders; just sneakers. No fancy vest; just a fanny pack stuffed with gear and slung across your chest. No creel; if you catch something you want to keep, you can tie a stringer to your pants. Big-brim hats. Sunscreen. It seems simple, but walking around in chest-deep class 1 rapids is less than easy. It leads to various problems. The rocks are usually slick, and the footing accordingly bad. There are always rocks that you can (and will) smash your shins into. The weather plays into the game too. A change from sun to clouds can leave you freezing cold in the middle of summer. The river can rise quickly, leaving you stuck on an island or on the other side. Getting out into the river is the only real way to catch those fish. The current and bottom conditions make boating difficult, though not impossible. In short, we look terrible, but get good results. We thought that it would be a good idea to do a TV show of our own, called "Fishing With Schmoes", where we could show regular folks, with a budget (both for money and time), how to have a good time fishing without the $100,000.00 investment. We would talk about little scenes or how to get shots of something funny.
I have always favored walking in the rivers. I feel like it washes my soul clean.
For years we fished like that. That's not to say that we didn't do other stuff. We fished from boats on the Chesapeake. We did float trips down our rivers. We fished ponds and impoundments from boats. It always came back to walking around in the river. We just figured that part of being a schmoe was suffering, whether it be from weather, pain, or other trauma. It was the cost of fishing glory.
Fishing glory has been hard to come by of late. In recent years, Larry, J and I have been forced to grow up. We all have grown-up lives to lead. Our Saturdays don't belong to us anymore. The concept of being able to fish twice in any weekend is laughable. Getting all three of us together at one time for anything has even been trouble. When this past August rolled around, we hadn't been fishing together in years. It was going to be a very happy day.
We arrived at our chosen spot. Our entry point would be a boat ramp on the Rapidan River. The Rapidan is a major tributary of the Rappahannock River, and this spot is very near the confluence of the rivers. The water was very low. In our style of fishing, this is a very good sign. With less water in the river, it is easier to get around because the water is generally shallower. With shallower water, the fish concentrate in the deeper spots. It is a formula for success.
Larry threw out a cast before any of us had our feet wet. He caught a fish on that first cast. We all smiled. We got into the river and walked out, heading upstream. We all had fish in hand within a few minutes. It was one of those days where everything worked. Whatever bait you had, that's fine, just throw it out there. We were fishing three radically different techniques with equal success, and having some fun. We cracked jokes on each other. We talked about other trips. We looked at animal tracks and at some birds. It was great. By lunchtime, we had caught about a hundred fish.
In contrast to our regular routine of eating damp sandwiches out of those triangular plastic boxes that you get from 7-11, J brought his travel grill and we had a hot lunch of hot dogs and sausages, along with all the fixings. I was soaking wet, I had sand in my shoes, a thumb with visible wear marks from unhooking fish, and a hot sandwich in hand. It was pretty much Nirvana.
After we ate, we stood around talking for a long time. Thinking back on it, we were catching up on each other. This was strange, because I never go more than a week or two without seeing these guys. There was something about being out there, in our goofy ghetto-fishing attire, out in the sun, having some fun. The sad part is, I think that we were all suffering from a giant case of the "nostalgias", and thinking things along the line of "you can never go home again".
Larry had to go home. J and I decided to stay. The fishing had been so good, I wanted to spend the afternoon using my fly rod. Catching smallmouth bass on a fly rod is one of my top five things to do in the world. I tied on a fly that I had made myself. It was several years old, but it looked good, and wasn't falling apart. J stayed with a little technique that he has developed for fishing soft plastics in a current. We went back out and slayed them.
I caught a bunch of fish. J caught not less than two-to-one on me. A couple of times, I caught myself just watching him fish. He has good eyes for spots and good feel for bait presentation. He "thinks like a fish", and is generally amazing that way. We walked downstream during the afternoon session, which is usually a faux pas, except that the river was so low, there would be no question of our ability to get back. Did I mention how cool it is to catch smallmouth on a fly rod? Yeah, well it's even better when you do in on stuff you made yourself. I basically achieved total fishing satisfaction that day.
We will never get back to the old days. I think that I finally realized this fact on that day. I also learned that we can still have a meaningful and enjoyable time, even with years in between fishing opportunities. In eight or ten years, my kids will be old enough to go out into the river on foot. I think that with Uncle J around, our best fishing days may still lie ahead. I will be especially happy if the kids want to take their old man out slipping and sliding on the rocks every weekend.
We got out of the river. I was dog-assed tired, having been awake for something like 40 hours straight. I came home and slept the sweet sleep of the dead, until I was finished. Where sleep is concerned, this is a very rare luxury any more. I woke up sometime in the late morning on Sunday, my great day having ended and a new one begun.
So in the final analysis, the best day ever took something more than two calendar days to complete. Oh well, when you have as many kick ass adventures and moments of poignancy as I did on that day, 24 hours can't hope to contain you.
Get out there and kick some ass, whatever it is that you do! I'll be back soon. Perhaps with a shorter post. Peace to all...Leave a comment.
DTXMATT12
posted by DTXMATT12 at 9:07 PM
1 Comments:
Find time for more days like that. You deserve them. Your friends and family will cherish sharing this kind of day with you.
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