After all the plugs and the thank yous, it’s nice to get back to the fishing…
I am sure that I do not need to tell anyone that fall is coming. While that means some good fishing, fall also means that the days are getting shorter. By the time I get home from the office, change, and drive to the lake, I only have about an hour to an hour and a half of day light left. Not much time to keep a fly in the water. The lack of sunlight is limiting the amount of mid week fishing I can do; and forcing most of my outings to the weekend.
Fall also means that my number of remaining fishing days for the year are waning… it won’t be long until the somber day when I clean all my fly gear and put it away for the winter. Got to make the most of the remaining fishing time while I still can…
I pulled on the waders again and into the water I went. I tried several different flies tonight, but black continues to the be the color that attracts the fish. The fishing was on fire…
I couldn’t keep the bluegills off my line! And I probably landed about a dozen largemouth bass as well.
I even managed a black crappie for good measure:
The fishing was so good that I fished through sundown and into the night…
I just kept catching fish… the bass bite was good before sundown, but it seemed to turn into every cast after the sun slipped below the horizon.
Fly fishing in the dark is a whole different experience… You suddenly become aware of all of your other senses. You can’t see your fly line uncurl in the air; so you have to feel the rhythm of the rod in your hand, sense the fly line in the air, and aim your casts by listening to where the fly splats against the water. Standing in waist deep water suddenly becomes more real when the only part of it you can see is where the moonlight is reflecting off the surface. The feeling that the water could swallow me up at any moment and no one would be able to stop it was frightening and invigorating at the same time.
Then I would feel the smashing strike of a largemouth reverberate through the rod…
Impulse took over to set the hook.
And suddenly I was an angler alone in the world fighting against a creature of the deep.
The fish’s splashing broke the silent air of the night. I would catch a glimpse of him leaping through the surface of the water in the moon light. My mind raced to interpret each thrashing jerk on the line as I struggled to keep him out of the weeds. Fighting a fish entirely by sense was something out of a dream.
The longer I stayed, the more I would cast, and the more fish I would catch.
With each fish, I increasingly became part of experience; part of the lake; part of the night…
I would hold the fish under the water while releasing them, waiting for them to splash away. 13 to 14 inch bass would cuddle in my palms; refusing to leave the comfort of my hands. I could feel their fins moving back and forth against my skin. I would pet them with my thumbs. They were not afraid, and each one found it difficult to swim away…
We were simply two creatures in the dark.
This continued until a bluegill finally took my fly too deep, and with out the aid of light, I was unable to remove it. I was forced to cut the line and release the fish. The darkness also prevented me from tying on a new fly…
And my night came to a close.
I guess nature was trying to make the most of its time with me as well.
Flies Over Nebraska 