The sun was shining down on the roughfisher on Monday.
I jumped parole and abandoned the big house, witnessing the first 50°F temp of the season. It felt great. Live sounds of Merle Haggard and The Strangers, circa 1969, and vintage Waylon Jennings from '74, rang in the chimes of freedom. The rebel yells of the brownliner anthem boosted morale, as I paralleled the allusions between the Outlaws and brownliner movement. At that moment, I declared Waylon the unofficial artist of the Brownline Nation.
When I arrived streamside, I quickly noticed the river was running a bit more turbid than weeks past, mostly due to the recent snowmelt and localized runoff over the weekend. Flows were still absurdly high for this time of year at 780 cfs. Looking at the gauge a day later, flows have jumped up even higher, with a record discharge of 1040 cfs. The snow melt has just begun; it might be a blown out spring. I rigged up my rods with some of those tungsten beauties tied the other night. Of course, the sparkle yarn caddis was money. So was the MIB. Fish galore. I even chucked a Darth Clam out there for shits and giggles. Found myself unhooking quite a few small buffalo off of it. Couldn't dredge up any big fish with it just yet.
I think I may have stumbled on to something with the MIB pattern. I don't know if the fish think it is a giant stonefly, a baitfish, or some other ungodly looking bug, but it is Mad money. Those badboys were responsible for turning me into a superhero on the water. Me likey.
I finally encountered my first fly angler of the season on the river. This hopeless fellow was in search of some crappies and wandered over my way. He asked how the fishing was going and informed me of his past success. I gave him the carp stare. Once he realized I wasn't budging, he moped off to another reach of river with apparently little success. Poor guy. From the looks of his double hauling, he sure looked like he knew what he was doing. It's a shame he couldn't let the force of the Dark Side draw him in.
Just goes to show that you can swing flies to carp and roughfish. Don't listen to what others say about what you can and can't do, and how and what you can fish for. If that was the case, everyone would still be fishing Catskill dry flies to rising browns with grass sticks and silk lines. Venture past the horizon and break trail. It's more fun out here in Brownliner country.
"Even a blind man knows when the sun is shining"
- the roughfisher