November 26, 2016 – The Wrong Choices for the Right Reasons – A Tough Pocono Trout Trip

Eric being skunked with finesse (and with a nice beard going).

With a little one in preschool and another on the way any minute, young Eric’s time away from home is limited these days.  He did get an 8 pointer with the bow on, like, day three of the season, so even though time was running out for archery, he wanted to fish today when his wife gave him the green light to get out.  He told me so in a text at 6 PM last night, when I was getting ready to go out and see a show in Philly with some friends (Peter Hook of Joy Division and New Order playing Substance in its entirety, so a slightly niche form of nostalgia).  I usually avoid dropping 25 bucks on nostalgia tours, but the show was a chance to hang with some old friends at the Trocadero, a venue where I lost a lot of hearing in my twenties.  Same deal with Eric this morning, I guess.  I have been itching to get some redemption on the beach, but my loving wife likes it when I socialize with friends (Okay, I like it too sometimes) so I chose to suck up my aging hipster pride and see old Hooky play songs from his seminal years, and I took Eric up on a NEPA fly fishing excursion.

Big blurry bow.

I chose an old favorite, a place Eric had not fish before despite going to school at ESU.  It was low the last time I was there, so I knew it would still be tough, but it would be an outing on a mild November day.  I was hoping drizzle and cloud cover would bring trout who have spent the last few months with their heads under rocks out of hiding.  Not so much, unfortunately.  Eric took a skunk with finesse, and I managed one wild brown and a nice, healthy rainbow, tight-line nymphing with a lot of weight.  I broke off another with a less than subtle hookset on a stonefly nymph.  Fishing barbless, and with my net stuck on a carabiner, zinger, or the fly patch of my slingpack, I only managed one blurry, albeit artistic, shot of the rainbow before he got a speedy release.  I actually caught this same fish in the same pocket last year, so even though he gained an inch or two, I recognized him and have his mug on file already J  He is a beauty hold-over with perfect fins and a thick silver body, and I still know his secret lair.

Pretty, but hard to come by.

I was a little hoarse from singing in an affectless baritone, ala Ian Curtis, along with 500+ other old heads packed into the Troc, and tinnitus has long been a trusted companion the morning after, but I felt good physically (especially for 4 hours of sleep) and good about earning a couple fish on a tough, tough day.  By the end of the second hour, I was playing cleanup, giving Eric first shot at some good holes, trying to be a responsible host and friend. When I got home, Tami told me she was proud that her little hermit boy had spent so much time playing with friends.  Sure, I wanted to pound the surf this morning, and I usually pay 10 dollars to see new music in smaller dives in the city, but I enjoyed myself on both fronts this weekend.  I made all the wrong choices for all the right reasons, I suppose.