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A junkies life
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« on: May 20, 2012, 06:31:41 PM »

A junkies life

“Oh god damn”…” Man oh man”…”Son of a”…  the words are muttering out of your mouth without realizing it.  That was an interesting take, didn’t seem like a noticeably big fish but as the line started pouring off your reel with the pulsing head shaking runs of the fish you got excited, really excited.  Just as quick as it came 20 seconds later it was off, and as you reel in the slack line you feel a big clump of weeds on your fly.  Fish must have hit a clump on its run and that must be the reason it came off, has to be it, not the pinched barb or possibly dull hook, damn weeds.  Few more casts and you shift to another spot, a better spot, the spot you have been waiting for, 3 casts in, bam, fish on.  Just a baby and you are actually shocked by how small it is, nice to see and at this moment you are glad you have a habit of pinching your barbs.  From personal experience you know the difference of pulling out a hook with a pinched barb and a hook without a pinched barb.  The time you buried the fly in your neck, glad the barb was pinched, freaky feeling but the fly slid right out.  The time you buried the fly in your arm, you REALLY wish you had pinched the barb; big difference in the wound it leaves and as you slide this bass back into the current you know it will swim away without much but a fleeting thought of what happened.  A few casts later and there is a big swirl on your fly, then another.  Two more casts and it looks like the water fell out from under your fly and all you can feel is something heavy, real heavy.  She bucks and thrashes and is on the reel quickly, bucking and shaking its heavy head.  “Damnit!”  “Son of a mother..”  ” Got to be kidding me..”  Just as quick as it came another fish is off.  You reel in the slack line telling yourself you are done pinching barbs, but as you examine your fly you see the hook is bent out.  “Oh.. well… bad ass..”  This is an acceptable way to lose a fish I guess, any other way, knot failure or anything else really and you would have been pissed, bent hook is okay.

The tides are shaping up nicely, 4 am lows, 5 am lows, these few days and the arrival of our big fish burn in your mind, it is going to get good.  Friday morning, 445 am low, this means arrival to the river around 1-1 30, epic stuff.  Telling your friends at the bar thursday night they look at you like you are mad, and they know your obsession, but they also know its 11 pm and you have had a few IPA’s that tell them you wont make it.” Eh, balderdash, I am going,” you say, friday you wake up at 430 am swearing, you missed it.

A fellow junkie tries to get you to go saturday morning but duties of the lobster world keep you away from the river.  When you get to the dock at 5am he is texting you with stories of multiple bass over 36 inches, missed fish and crazy battles.  Jealousy is an ugly color and right now you are wearing it.  You make plans for the next morning and the thoughts of those slobby bass are all consuming.

Its dark on the river at 2am, and quiet, very quiet.  You rig up using a little head lamp stuck to the brim of your hat, but it falls off, you wedge a tissue between the light and the brim of your hat  from your “on the river sh*t kit” as your buddy puts it.  Once rigged up you turn off the light and walk gingerly into the water, slipping on the mud right before you get in but you make it without a spill.  As you stare at the water trying to get your bearings you hear it, sounds like muffled claps, then you see the swirls.  The river is alive, and what 5 minutes ago seemed like dead silence is now like a chorus.  Splashes here and swirls there and you know you have made the right choice.

You have become a vampire, your a mess during the day but as the sun goes down you become active, and the anticipation of being waist deep at 3 am drives you mad and everything else in your life gets put off to the wayside until these tides are over.


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