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Fishing
Techniques :: Destinations :: General ::
GPS systems
Confessions
of a Stream Angler
by Mike Clifford/HeartlandOutdoorsman.Com
A HeartlandOutdoorsman.com Production.....
The routine hadn't changed much in the last
30 years or so. A typical Saturday morning would find Frank
Malone rising well before sunrise. Today would be no different.
As he sat on the edge of his bed wiping the
sleep from his eyes, Frank pondered his fishing opportunities,
wondering where this day might lead him.
The smell of freshly brewed coffee now filled the lonely
house, and Frank wondered how he would go about packing
everything up and preserving the memories of a lifetime
that echoed inside the walls of this old place. The wind
rattling the branches of the old oak tree outside his office
window had Frank thinking that the fly rod would probably
stay home today in favor of his trusty old spinning gear
and the recent rains would probably make wading more difficult
than it was worth.
For the first time in his adult life, Frank was having second
thoughts about going fishing at all, but the workload facing
him here seemed daunting, to say the least.
Mary always seemed to have a place for everything, and looking
around at this point, Frank suddenly realized that he really
had no clue where anything was. He couldn't help but chuckle
at the thought, and went about his usual routine of gathering
up some essentials for the day.
With
his thermos of coffee in hand, he headed out to the barn
to check on the goats to make sure they hadn't busted out
of their pens, as they had recently found a liking to doing.
Actually, the neighbors would have called if there had been
another episode during the night such as occurred twice
this week already.
Animals just seem to have that sixth sense in knowing that
something has changed drastically in their surroundings,
and these creatures definitely sense that something is not
the same.
As
darkness still held its grip on the morning, the lights
from Frank's truck glanced briefly off the barn and startled
the chickens out of their stupor, bringing a smile to his
face as he realized that some things never change.
Fumbling to find his cigars and dial up a weather forecast
on the radio, Frank came to the realization that he didn't
even know where he was going to end up fishing today.
He'd done this so many times, for so many years, yet on
this day he seemed to have a hard time getting his thoughts
together.
With
a slight chance of rain in the forecast and a low pressure
system, it would more than likely be a good bite anywhere
he ended up, Frank figured.
The
light of a fresh morning was just beginning to peek over
the horizon as Frank navigated the thick fog and back roads
to take his customary place among the tall pines and crisp
mountain air.
Taking advantage of the seemingly perfect conditions on
this day, he wasted no time in getting set up and was at
stream's edge just in time to witness a bald eagle take
flight from it's roost, a marvel he had probably taken for
granted too many times.
Everything seemed just a little more magical today, and
Frank disrupted his usual routine at this point to slowly
set his gear down and take it all in with a deep breath.
The
stream was running a little quicker than usual, but "The
Rock" could still be seen sticking out of the water,
which generally meant it was safe to wade.
With his rod in hand, wading staff and a small box of flies,
Frank was on his way.
Realizing he had a challenge ahead of him with the winds
swirling through the canyon, Frank decided to make it easier
on himself and tuck in behind the towering bluff and work
the "hidden cove", as a few locals liked to refer
to it. Many a trout had come from this pool under just such
conditions, and Frank was able to repeat his time honored
tactics on this particular day to land and release at least
a dozen decent rainbows.
As he prepared to pack it in and call it a morning, Frank
noticed a familiar silouhette off in the distance. The unmistakable
outline could be none other than his trusty old friend.
Harold
Westinghouse was a brooding figure even from a distance,
standing well over six feet tall, and sporting a grey beard
of "biblical proportions".
"Hey Westinghouse!" Frank yelled as he made his
way back to the streambank. "You wearin' your lucky
shirt today? Your not gonna need it, the fish are hitting
anything that gets near 'em!" Frank laughed. Sharing
their spots was never an issue between these two, as they
grew up together on this land and helped lead the way in
the preservation of this watershed through extensive conservation
efforts.
As Frank got closer to his friend, the fog seemed to lift
in an almost surreal fashion and he found himself standing
midstream staring at a newly fallen tree that must have
been knocked down in the recent storm.
It
was at this moment that Frank suddenly realized his whole
world had drastically taken a turn in the last six months
with the loss of Mary, preceded three months earlier by
the loss of his best friend.
Now it seemed as though he was losing his mind, as he stood
there staring for what seemed like an eternity, with scattered
memories flooding in and consuming his thoughts, trying
to get a grip on what he was going to do from here with
his life.
Thoughts of packing away those boxes entered the equation
once again, and it was time.
The
last year of Frank Malone's life was spent travelling to
all the places he always refused to visit because he had
the very best in his backyard and couldn't bear the thought
of ever turning his back on something so dear to him.
Some say he died of a broken heart and only returned to
be scattered into the wind that he was always trying to
escape from while out in the water. Those that never got
to know him will wish they had upon hearing of his life-long
passion for this great land. One only needs to look toward
the sky and hope for a glimpse of a bald eagle spreading
it's wings as it glides off into the pines, and they will
come to know that Frank still watches over this remarkable
place, and all is well in this little corner of the great
outdoors.
The
End
HeartlandOutdoorsman.Com
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