When the orbit surrounding the sun on our planet, my friend Mike Sepelak went fishing at least 52 times.If possible, it is more common, but he sets the average weekly standard.I met Mike on a blog name Mike & rsquo goes againAnd, with such a title, the only surprise of my fishing frequency is that he did not have more fishing.
Because I spent the academic year during my vacation in North Carolina, I contacted Mike, and he generously invited me to participate in some of his outings.Many of his travels have been carefully planned and studied, but his target outing that year comes from simple invitations.
"I feel itchy. Maybe I will travel quickly next week?"
"Please, thank you," & rsquo; I answered.
7 days in a week, it should be easy to fish 52 times a year.But this is not.We watched the hour, wasted the number of days, and unknowingly filled out our past in a week without fish without a week.His father was ruthless and rude. He stole it without punishment. We accidentally ignored the door to lock our door.For those who live on the 45th parallel line, when our river disappeared for several months under the indestructible ice and snow floor, the situation intensified.Moreover, if we get a little comfort from the shot of Red Bull and Jagermeister and hang frozen lines in an eight -inch hole on ice, then we have two options to deal with endless winter.Ruchi and mouth, or move south of this season.
In the winter of breeding and P mouth for more than two decades, my migration residence is about latitude below the latitude of & mdash, and the temperature above my usual residence exceeds 30 degrees.Therefore, when Mike and I met us in the morning, I wore a thin wool jacket and a thick smile.Mike is the same.He said we were going to drive for two hours, fishing for six to seven, and then drove home.I only fish for about three months, so I hope to devour these six or seven hours, and I have almost no father’s time to go to Nabo.
We stopped in a small cleaning by the river, where two overweight Labrador hounds immediately greeted us.These dogs have met Mike from many previous trips, so they enthusiastically voluntarily accompanied us to show the eyes they stared at in the next four to five hours, and threatened to grow up.The creatures are attracted to the woods.As their services, they only asked us to pat their heads occasionally and say some comfortable words in their general directions.
When we arrived at the river, Mike put me on an impetuous swimming pool, and then waded downstream, swinging through quickly flowing.
"What should I do about what I should do?" I asked.
"The fish of catfish," Mike said.
I know nothing about this river, but it is a tail water, and the fish may eat in the hill.Therefore, naturally, my first fish was 18 beaded wild chicken tails. The flies I used can only reduce the 20 back midge to catfish.Another reminder, if I choose the right flies, catfish & mdash; only catfish will let me know.I released the fish and glanced at the watch.It’s noon.My father’s time had been caught for several hours.If I do n’t have a joke, the ruthless robber will undoubtedly steal more from this glorious December day.
I fished steadily for an hour, and then noticed that Mike strolled along the river bank behind me on the upstream road.
"I didn’t look at the watch, what time do you think?" I asked.
Mike glanced at the sky."I said at noon."
"A & rsquo;" I sighed.
"That’s late than I think. We’d better continue casting."
Mike adds some faster water to the wading and signals me to follow.Soon after, he discovered a pod rising in the foam -shaped vortex flowing along the distant bank, and took me to a perfect position opposite the fish.I asked the suggestion, and he suggested that I "fishing and fishing."
Most of the fish I have seen that day are between eight and ten inches, and I have no reason to believe that they are different.Regardless of the size of the fish, the sideline of the error is 20 or smaller.In my probability course, I told my students that if you throw the coin to enough time, you can eventually see eight, ten, fifteen, twenty or more continuous tossing show the tail.You just need patience and lasting.The same is true of my little flies.If I have a purpose and care, it is impossible to happen sometimes.
"Damn, dragged again." I blurted out because the little flies seemed to leave at the end of drift.However, at this moment, the flies disappeared under a greedy rise, and the fish waved dancing deeper water."Or perfectly drift," Mike suggested when he snatched the net from magnetic buckle.
After releaseing catfish, I realized that Mike killed me a fish for me only on the second outing.Is it still?Are our relationship ready?We do have many things in common.We use the same waterproof camera. The camera has the same ST. CROIX rod, and both are forced to check and re -check the trucks of the truck twice, and then walk away.Maybe it’s right.
Mike looked at his watch."Hey, Tim, what time is you now?" He asked doubt.Then it hit me.The last time I wore a fishing watch was the five -day legislative law forced our clocks and watches to retreat for an hour.Therefore, when I was happy to rotate the crown of the watch to make up for the precious time, when I lost, the enthusiastic overweight searchman was ecstatic.Somewhere in the distance, far exceeding our guard dogs & rsquo; peripheral & mdash; an exiled father’s time cursed his losses angrily.Mike and Tim have an hour of fishing.