Success is spelled C-A-R-P

NPR let me know at 6:30 AM that chances of rain today in the area were at 70% after 1 PM. It was fishing day for lunch. I made a mental note that I would need to go early.

Planned early with the team, volunteering to go to lunch break at 10 AM.

The conversation continued after that with my co-worker Tim when he asked if I was going fishing. Turns out he used to do laps around Cunningham - all the way around - and he pointed out a spot on the West side that "nobody ever goes to." He showed me where. I got directions, and decided to check it out.

Work was hectic for a while. Didn't make it out until about 10:15. It was raining lightly.

"No sweat! I've got a rain coat in the trunk!"

I drove off. Got to the lake, parked in the indicated area and got out to check my trunk.

No rain coat.

I had a nagging feeling this was going to be epic, so I did what all crazy sport-fishermen tend to do... I found a  plastic baggy for my phone and my keys, then saddled up.

Two hundred yards of waist-high, wet grasses were ahead of me. It ran along the side of old tire-tracks. Birds were singing and the rain came straight down. It was emerald and quiet. I smiled to myself as I felt a bump on the pole as I walked. A robin had popped it while flying off. I apologized to it and continued on.

I hesitated on the edge of the grass with the water in sight. Paranoid of ticks, I tentatively walked sideways, pressing the grass down. It was a short trip to the water.

Dual fly rig on, line wet, first fish was a green sunfish. Unhooked.

Heard a sucking sound, and almost a groaning about 8 feet down the shore. Shore was tall grass, mud overhangs and root-shelves over about 6 inches of water. I thought, "Well, that's a strange sounding duck."  Splashes and churning accompanied the noises. Dolphins rose and fell out in the pond. I looked 50 yards down the shore near an inlet and BINGO.

Tails.

I immediately started dropping along the shore near the splashing. It was obviously single fish feeding. Nothing at first. Roll-casted back to and area I had been before. Felt two very light bumps and lifted.

ZOOOOOOM!

The drag sounded and I looked at the sky and whooped like a madman!

Tried to snap a picture of my bent pole, but the bag made it blurry. It wasn't a MONSTER, but it took off like one! Sadly, ended up running under debris. Had to break off the leader completely. 

Hands shaking, excitement up, I re-rigged and set off east along the shore. I cast to activity, nothing. Alarm started going off on the phone. Waited till the last minute. I picked up my rod and let a length of line drag along the water near the shore while I moved to better casting position. Went to lift the rod to backcast, and had a fight on my hands.

Ladies and gentlemen, success is spelled C-A-R-P.

I felt really good on a lot of levels after this, but the biggest thing that stuck out was something I will privately cherish. 

Others may laugh. Finding carp flats is something I've dedicated to those side-"you might think it's silly" prayers. It has been a personal quest and desire of mine for nearly two years. Today just happened to be the day that my co-worker tells me about "this one place", and that it just feels right to visit. To me, it was more than a simple rainy fishing trip. This was God saying something to me as a child. 

Tight lines.

Lunchtime Report for... yesterday.

Ok, a day late. Sorry!

Went to the SW corner of Cunningham by the dam. There is a drain station there loaded with flotsam. It is a DREAMY carp flat with dolphins flopping everywhere 30-40 ft away from shore. West side of drain station is a cove, max depth of about 18-24". Perfect for bluegill, and they are big this year. I think I'm actually pretty grateful for bucket brigades on this water.

Started throwing a white Walmart popper by itself. It was about 15 mph headwind, so I would imagine the fish weren't paying attention to the surface.

Tied on a bead-head soft-hackle and BAM.

Little green sunfish. Bad picture. 5 inches long, maybe.

I kept getting strikes. The bead would pull the walmart popper down, so it was a slow steady descent. I put it in deeper water and would let it sink before "popping" it under water.

I knew there was action to be had right by the outflow of the drain station, so I dropped it right in front.

These were little flies, people! This was the first bass to hit. It was a thrill to see it fight on such a small fly. 

I cast around for a while more. Didn't want to try to cove because I was working and afraid of ticks. No luck. 

Put the fly right by the front of the drain again.

All in all, a great lunch break... now WHERE are those hungry carp?!

The Fulfilling Moments

Six months ago, I started praying, hoping and searching hard for a job that truly fit who I was. I was praying hard to find out who I was, talent-wise. With an inspired wife and some great friends, the opportunity with ConAgra rolled up. That was a fulfilling moment, to sit in an interview and honestly express excitement about what one can do at a Unix console, then get to do it every day.

Turned out even better than I expected. My new job was five - count 'em - five minutes away from my favorite fishing hole.

They have free popcorn. I get along great with my coworkers. (That last one has never lacked, but it's a nice trend to continue.)

Every time I reflect on how those prayers have been answered, and are answered every day, it's a fulfilling moment.

I hit the water today during lunch. 78 degrees and sunny, slight breeze. Water semi-clear, not much turbidity.

Not a single bite.

I commented on this with a co-worker who enjoys the sport. I lamented my attempts with my wife via chat. She felt sorry for me. Our chat turned to our budget. We discussed cost-savings. I decided I just needed to take a good evening up at a nice spot, catch a bunch of green sunfish, and we'd have some grocery supplement.

Wife brought the girls up to work so I could take them tonight. That was a fulfilling moment.

First fish was Eva's, and a nice one at that. As you can see, she's two years old. And distressed. This fish went in the bucket. She caught another soon after, similar size. Dropped her pole. I picked it up. Fish went in the bucket.

Next two were Ruth's. She fought them hard and strong. Held it up for a picture.  Those two fish went in the bucket. Is that a tick on the grass behind her?

Skipping down the bank to the next spot, Ruth cries, "This is great daddy-daughter time!!"

That was a fulfilling moment.

All told, 3 on the fly rod, 4 by the babies. Met some polite young men out having fun. They wished us a good evening, called me a good fisherman - I denied it; they haven't read my blog.

Car doors slam shut. Girls are buckled, bucket is in the back, and we're rolling.

"We're going to go home," starts Ruth, "and we're going to kill the fish, then we're going to cut them up, and freeze them to eat later."

"That's right!"

Kind of a weird moment, that, but fulfilling in a way.

Girls are in the kitchen awaiting the spectacle. 

Apron is on, dog is out, cat is not interested (strange), and the first fish gets it. 

"Ewwww! There's blood! Yuck."

Another fish flops in the sink.

"Don't worry fish, you'll be okay!" Ruth says.

"Ho ho, no they won't," I remind her.

"Why?" she asks.

"Because we're going to cut them!"

"Oh, right. We're going to cut them up! They will NOT Be okay! Haha!"

Sinister.

More ooooo's and ahhh's, and the first fish is butchered. Time for bath.

Eva only had one tick on her hide. Pulled 9 off of Ruth. 8 from her scalp, one from behind her ear. Babies were scrubbed and sleeping soon after.

Butchered the rest of the fish, with the help of this awesome video. Behold:

Leftovers

And here we are. Only cut up one of the 14 fillets beyond recognition. They are now chilling, per my daughters earlier statement.

My wife wonders via text where I am. I send her the bag-of-fish picture. She says, "Yay! Enough for fish tacos?"

"Heck yes," I say, and it still feels as fulfilling now as it did in that moment.

Oh crap, though. I just realized I wrapped the fillets in parchment paper instead of wax paper. I hope they're okay! Oh well... lesson learned if not. It's still all about the fulfilling moments.