Fishing the Creek

You know how old guys know everything about fishing? My dad tells me that my grandpa could fish a bend of a Colorado creek, seemingly without moving all day, and still come away with a creel full of fish. I wonder where they learned all that skill (or was it just patience)?

My folks were in Georgia for a couple of weeks, and are on their way back home as I type this. One of the highlights of their visits is the time that I get to spend fishing with my dad. I wasn't much of a fisher when I was younger. Found it quite boring actually. As I've gotten older, it's risen to be my favorite pastime. Rarely does he visit now that we don't get out at least for a little bit.

This was one of those trips where it was more about the time spent together than the fish. Good thing too, because no fish made an appearance. Not even a minnow in the shallows. The weather has been in that fall cycle of jerking back and forth between 35 degrees and 75 degrees, so I am blaming it on that, though for all I know that is prime fishing conditions.

The odd find of the day was by my nephew. Not 20 feet from our first fishing spot was a dead doe, mostly submerged, laying in the creek. At first glance, I thought it was just a rib cage, but a closer look showed the whole animal. No clue how it ended up there, but there it was.

I was mostly just wandering after giving up on catching anything and came up to this old pair of dead trees. I almost missed it, but perched near the top a a heron, keeping a wary eye on me already.

He'd seen enough, I guess.

And, still skunked, here's Pawpaw and two of his three grandsons.