Monday, November 07, 2005

While Paris Burns He Dreams Of Fishing

Autumn days here in north central Florida make you want to be outside walking around and doing, or better, fishing. I need to take my fiddler, fellow corkscrew collector, friend Tom up on his offer to go speckled perch fishing on Lochloosa Lake. Tom insists that we use only our fly rods, which is fine with me. Likely as not I'll try some sort of weighted streamer that suggests a minnow or a big leech and do a lot of downwind casting, which means coils of line inevitably getting cozy with the flotsam in the bottom of the boat, just when a fish is on. When the specs are biting, you always have a fish on and too much line piling up on your shoetops.

Sometimes, however, its nice to just hang a Beetle Spin jig off the end of a long cane pole, lay back, and let the breeze laze you across the lake while you variously scan the shore, watch the clouds, read poetry aloud, inspect your fingernails, or stare at the age spots on the backs of your fishing buddy's hands.

Life doesn’t get much better than that.

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