Rescuing The Lure

self | 3 September 2016 | Vanity

[wgflyer]

I retired in March, and shortly afterwards, with unfamiliar time on my hands I took a little drive eventually passing through a small town called Royce City and decided to take a look around. Turning off of HWY66, I drove only a few short blocks north before running into a place called City Lake Park, or something like that. There was indeed a little lake there, and also some virgin ground for metal detecting in the park. But while the metal detector was languishing in the garage, the ever handy fishing poles in my truck were ready for use and so I parked and wandered down to the lake with my ultralight jig stick.

It was wet from recent rains and as I walked down the gentle slope to the lake's edge my right shoe entered a zero friction zone and introduced my butt to the to the ground. I made a quick discovery and noted it for future consideration: Mud doesn't brush off. It smears. But no matter. I saw fish in the water and a couple of casts later I had successfully scared them off. In the process, a previously unseen and rather fat snake near my feet slid off into the water, improving the adventure.

Shortly, there was some kind of commotion behind me. I turned to look and there was a guy coming around the little Gazebo wearing chest waders and carrying one of those extendable tree prunning saws. He apologized for bothering me, but insisted that he was going to have to enter the water where I was fishing. "I got an 8 dollar lure stuck in those weeds, and I ain't gonna lose it", he said by way of explaination. His wife was behind him, ready with her smart phone to film the event.

Since my fishing was going so well I relinquished the position to him and stood back to watch. I figured the bottom would suck those waders off him and he'd need a tractor to haul his posterior back out, but in he went anyways.

The bottom was apparently firm enough but the water was deeper than, certainly, I had expected. He was up to about his nether regions when he suddenly halted for a moment. Looking around, he noticed that the place "looked pretty snakey", at which point I mentioned my little adventure shortly before his arrival. I could see some mental process taking place, now, possibly a short reevaluation of the actual worth of the lure. But the lure overcame, and out further he went.

I could see the lure, a colorful rapala stuck in a reed patch just out of reach. The fellow strained, couldn't quite reach it, and edged further out. I mentioned casually to him that the water was half an inch from the top of the waders, which furrowed his brow a bit, but his focus remained on that rapala. Extending the tree saw he finally got the blade around the offending reed and pulled. With that action the reed just submerged, along with the lure, and stayed under.

Now fully determined, he took the final step that broached the top of his waders and I listened to him make little unhappy sounds as they filled. With not much left to lose he used the saw to fish out a bit of line still attached to the lure and pulled. The lure came out and he cried victory.

The wade back to the bank was somewhat problematic, what with the bottom being slippery, sloped, and his waders now acting the part of water brakes on each step, but he finally climbed triumphantly back onto the bank. When I was a kid, waders were made from rubber and I had expected him to come out of that pond looking like some kind of aquatic michelin man, but no. The waders held the water and their shape quite well. The wife lady got it all on video for posterity.

The lure was displayed in all its splendor for me to admire. He told me that he'd fished that pond all his life, way before the park was created, and that there were some bass in there that'd look good on anyone's mantle. Given that little bit of information, and the fact that in only 15 or 20 minutes this little pond had provided more than ample entertainment, I figure I'll be back.

T'ain't nuttin wrong with being retired!

[madison10]

What a sweet break from boredom!

[Tilted Irish Kilt]

A most excellent adventure, indeed.
Now you know that is a 'honey-hole' !

[stylin19a]

you have a nice way with words.

[Vendome]

Great story...

[Tilted Irish Kilt]

I had been fly fishing for a few hours on the Salmon River with friends while wearing chest waders.
It was getting time for me to leave, and so I headed for shore, but no one told me about the sunken log between me and the shoreline.
I fell forward over the sunken log and felt the fall chilled water go down my back, but I hadn't worn a safety belt near the top of the waders, and the water just poured in.
I regained my composure, regained my voice control, and moved downstream another 10 feet to get to shore, and whoops, there was that tree again, and got another dunking.
More cold water down the front and backside.
With my head remaining above the waterline, and to the howels of my friends, I fell forward again, for the third time over the same tree.
That danged tree had to be 40 feet long, and so I tried to climb over it, but my chest waders were filled with cold water, and I could barely lift my leg over that sunken tree.
Now I was cold, wet, p#8$%sed and the source of much laughter, as the other friends(?) had fished that hole before and knew exactly where the sunken tree was located.
My waders were so full of cold water that I couldn't get up the slippery mud lined shore, so I had to crawl to shore on all fours.
I had so much cold water in the waders that I couldn't even stand and walk, so I layed down on my back on the shore, and lifted my boots so that the cold water could exit ..
again down my back, and out of the waders .
I now had an hour and a half cold , damp drive home after I had gotten the waders off; needless to say, the PU truck heater was on high all the way home.
Nowadays, I river flyfish with a walking staff, a chest wader safety belt, and haven't been fly fishing with those friends (?), now acquaintances, since.

[concentric circles]

[wgflyer]

Thank you!

[wmileo]

"T'ain't nuttin wrong with being retired!"

You got that right!!!!

[BillyBonebrake]

Something tells me you will do fine enjoying retirement.

I lost a good bass lure when I was 11 or 12 years old and decided to wade into the pond barefoot. Which was rewarded with 8 stitches to the bottom of my foot. Very painful getting those stitches.

[Defiant]

Nice report. It’s good you have free time, you are putting it to good use.

[1rudeboy]

Thanks for posting. Reminds me of rushing home from work, changing clothes, getting all the gear ready, loading up the beer cooler, and heading out to the pond I called "number two" (because there were three on the property where I was living). The owner had asked me to "fish it out," because he was afraid that the mature largemouth bass would not allow the little ones to grow. I mean, can life be any more perfect?

I'd launch the rowboat, carefully and with great effort, because I didn't want to "wake" the bass up. Life was perfect. The water was still, and the scene was idyllic. Nature abounded.

Then I would realize that the beer was gone, the sun was down, and I had not made a single cast.

[wgflyer]

Ouch, that makes me cringe. I worry about that kind of injury a lot. Never wade barefoot!

[wgflyer]

You have captured the essence of the sport. Good one!