After driving up a rather wide dirt road, we came to the pull off and geared up. Adicus was yapping with excitement as I laced on my boots and got my pack on. The three of us started
increased flows. Getting to the entry point, I let TF have the first pool while I rigged up with a caddis and a pheasant tail and moved up to the next pool. To my surprise, neither he nor I caught a fish out of those holes, or the next, or the next, ........ I mean the fishin' was slow. Real slow. I would occasionally see a fish flash at my nymph, or glance at the dry, but they wouldn't take. Talk about frustrating.
This led to an epic run of fly changes, trying, thinking, guessing as to what they want! Occasionally, a fish would stumble onto the fly, so we ended up catching a few. I think TF caught 2, missing a few more. And I caught 5, missing a few also. Not a real stellar day, but still a nice day in the water, doing something new. Fishing with someone else. Anyone who reads the message board knows I go by Lone_Angler. A reference to the fact I generally like to fish alone, but it was a nice change of pace to hang out with somebody. Sorry the fishin' was so slow, TF.
The three of us continued along, aimlessly beating the water, so it seamed. Sensing the encroaching rain and frustration over not hooking fish, I tied on my "go-to" combo, a size 12 thunderhead with a size 16 hareymoose. (why I didn't go to this earlier, I have no idea) I immediately began to catch fish, three bows out of three consecutive
A light drizzle began to fall, while TF was fishing a large pool, I decided to put my rain jacket on, so I laid my rod down. (STUPID) Adicus was hopping around, trying to get me to throw the stick I had been tossing for him earlier. To get him out of the way, I picked up the stick and tossed it into the woods. (Even more STUPID!) Adicus tore ass around me, (he is a bit of a fetch freak) to my right and not to my left, the direction I threw the stick. As he jumped, I heard a crack like a lightening bolt, a sound I know all too well. A sickening feeling came over me, without even looking, I knew what had happened.
After a few seconds, I gathered the courage to look, and my beloved 2wt lay in two pieces, snapped one inch above the joint. That easily, that quickly, my favorite rod was gone. Broken. Never to acompany me into the backcountry, never to to feel the fight of a wild fish. Such a tragedy. She was a great rod (if you look a my fish blog photos, she's in over 90% of them), my favorite so far this season. Landing everything from minuscule redhoarses, to a 18" wild brown that I caught last year, she was always there for me, never failing.
The second tragedy in this is that I took my frustrations out on Adicus in my deranged mental state. Nothing
On a brighter note, I took a better look at the rod, now that I can stomach the whole thing, and I think I might be able to save it. Seems that the upper section fits over the lower piece, so I might turn her into a one piece with a bit of thread, epoxy, and love. Updates will be coming.
1 comment:
Man, that is rough! I think it must be the fishing gods telling you it is time to take up rod building -build a replacement or two (or three or four or .....)
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