“I can’t hardly walk sometimes”, my friend Ed said as we talked in the store the other day. “My knees, man, they’re killing me”. Ed’s a big guy, rides his bike to keep in shape, does what he can to cope with a long term ailment of the knees. We kept trying to put together a fishing outing wading in the river, but it was going to be tough.

A few days later he came bouncing through the door shouting “liquid gold, baby, liquid gold”! Apparently his doctor had given him a couple of cortisone shots, and he felt like he was on top of the world. “Let’s go fishing”, he said. Ok.

We got to our local park, got geared up, waded in and positioned ourselves upstream of a pool we thought would get active when the Hex flies started. We caught some fish here and there, certainly enough to keep things interesting. Ed caught what seemed like a half dozen rock bass from the same exact square foot of river at the end of a log. Rocky Racoons, we called them. We had a great laugh about that one.

We caught a few smallmouth, but it was a light night. Not many risers even though it was a good hex hatch. I love those little things. It’s fun just to watch them dance up and down and fly full out up and down the river in a steady stream. “This is like being in Disneyworld or something”, I said to Ed. He agreed.

Well before dark we decided to head back to the car where a tailgate, some cold beverages, and some friendly talk awaited. I looked forward to that part of fishing just as much as the fishing itself. It would be a great distraction and a re-focus on what’s important in life, as the personal life still had it’s persistent pain. You’d agree we’ve all been through it if you knew what it was. I talk about it because it’s part of life, and life has it’s twists, turns, starts…and stops. Seems like it’s never smooth, settled, sure, or predictable. When will I ever understand that? Maybe life is more like fishing (or a box of chocolates) than I’d like to believe. Oh well.

“How’s your knees?”, I asked Ed. “Fine”, he replied. “I told you man, liquid gold.” The wonders of modern medicine. Here was a guy who couldn’t fish, and now was. It made me respect my Father, a world renown orthopedic surgeon, even more, as I’m sure he’s improved lives like this on a daily basis. I sure didn’t respect him enough then, or tell him how much I respect him even now.

Back at the car the friendly jabbing back and forth, that had been a big part of the evening, continued. Who caught the smallest fish, who caught more, who tangled more, caught more trees, etc. Plenty of kidding with absolutely no risk of hurt feelings. Man I love it when you’re with people like that. A few other guys came up from the river and joined right in. How cool is that. How cool is it that they had a couch in the back of their truck they found on the road. It was in good shape, and they asked if I wanted it. I did need one, but nah, thanks anyway.

“Here”, Ed said. I looked around and there he was holding a cigar. “These were soaked in Bourbon and Bitters”.
In my simple world, one of the nicest things a guy can do is hand me a cigar. I like them, I’m not crazy about them, but they are good, especially in a setting like that. I lit it up and savored the unique flavor. Ed went into the details of where he got them, how they were made, and so on.

Well, the park closes at 10:00, and it was 9:58. Time to leave, or the Ranger would lock the gate and we’d have to sleep out under the stars until the next morning. Hmmm.

The last couple of weeks I was blessed with a few real quality fishing outings. Again, it was the people that made it real, and here’s one of them.

Pete was a gentleman who hadn’t fished since he was much younger and now that he’s nearing retirement he wanted to rekindle it. “About time”, I said. He agreed. He wanted to spin fish in kayaks, and as I explained how we did it with circle hooks for the 96% lip hook rate, he ate it up. It was just what he was looking for. He wanted minimal impact on the environment like most of us now days. We launched the kayaks with wheels strapped to the bows, and slid out into the water.

At the first pool, we positioned the kayaks and set the Stinger Anchors down. Though getting used to the gentle circle hook set is difficult, it wasn’t long before he was into a couple of rock bass, his first with small plastics and circle hooks. He was elated to have hooked up after a few misses. “Hey, I can move you back over to J hooks if you want to hook more fish, but we’d risk some throat hooks”, I said.
“No way” came the response. “Part of why I’m out here is to learn”, he went on. “Catching fish is secondary”. What a blessing to fish with such an easy going guy.

As my client fished, I could tell he was relaxing and just enjoying himself. I put my feet out on both sides of the kayak and found myself staring into the water. Tough personal times had set in yet again, and it felt good just to hear the sound of a small waterfall close by, smell the semi-pungent water, and feel the cool evening air with the river gently rocking my kayak as I stared into it’s crystal clear waters, looking for something. It was there, like it usually is. “You’re alright, man”, I said to myself. “Just give yourself some time”.

We floated and stung down the river with the current and he had a ball. I know this is going to sound like an advertisement, but on the way down the river my client was so impressed with the Stinger’s anchoring he turned around, looked at it, and said “where have you been all my life”? Wow was that great to hear.

No we didn’t catch alot of fish, but I have to agree there’s just something a little more rewarding catching them on the circle hook because it’s just a little harder. There’s also something rewarding about seeing that hook…harmlessly in the corner of the mouth. I just love that, it’s the first thing I look for whenever the fish comes into view.

Darkness settled in, we pulled up Stingers, and paddled down to the take out. In minutes we had the wheels on the kayaks and had walked them back to the car. My client thanked me profusely, for which I returned the thanks as he had been a fine gentleman to guide and fish with.

He left, and as is tradition, I sat on the tailgate of my explorer, quenched my thirst and noticed the moon had risen full. The cool, almost cold night air felt silky smooth on my previously sweat soaked skin. It was quiet. Oh, how I wanted to just sit there, be a nobody, and feel that way for a long, long, time.