July 15, 2019 – Uncle Sam and I Sneak One in Around Family Time – Centre County Limestoners

Let the nymphing begin.

I may have told the story here about how my wife and her friend Sharon set Sam, her brother, and me up on a fishing man-date some years ago.  My wife and Sharon have been friends for a long time, maybe 15 years or more, both public school teachers together for a time, and both have precocious and easy-going only children who still get along well to this very day.  In passing, I knew that Sharon’s brother fly fished and worked at fly shops, but he was not in the area at the time, not even in PA.   One Christmas, Tami surprised me with a nice box of custom flies from the vice of Sam Galt, now back in State College, and the generous Sam added a note about how the flies also came with a free trip should I make the drive out to Central Pennsylvania that spring.  The rest has been documented here.  In the beginning, I was getting back into fly fishing after a long hiatus, mostly to feed a surf fishing addiction, so I was basically getting an instructional guided trip by a guide on his days off—the only payment, a few quality beers from home, maybe a classy Nittany Minimart lunch in waders and linoleum-puncturing spikes, perhaps my notable wit.  Now, it is more like two guys fishing together, although one is still quite a bit more skilled than the other if you know what I am saying.... 

Family vacation first.

Because our son and Sharon’s daughter, Sam’s niece, have known each other for their entire lives, they get along very well, and both are a pleasure to travel with, so Tami and Sharon have done short vacations together with the kids.  This year, our families, including Sam and Sharon’s mom, decided to rent an Airbnb in Centre Hall, PA for a few days.  Everybody wins, you know?  Tami and Sharon get to see each other, Sharon’s mom gets to see her busy son (and her kids and grandchild together), the tweens have each other to play with, and I get at least one morning with Sam in some great summer fishing conditions.  We actually spent a lot of time together, my family and Team Galt, including a couple meals, some beers on the farm house porch, and Sam’s tour of the Poe Paddies via the scenic route—more scenic for the lead car in our caravan as, ironically enough in this year (okay, two) of the rain storm, the gravel roads were a dusty mess.  Sam asked when we arrived at our first stop, Did you see the flock of wild turkeys?  I slowed down.  To which I replied, We saw nothing but dirt and brake lights, bruh. 

Plenty of solid fish in the mix.

Sam was splitting time between home, only 15 minutes away, where he got to sleep in his own bed, and our rental, but he took the three days off to spend quality time with his family, who drove the 3 hours and change from SEPA to visit him.   We contemplated taking the kids to a private stretch one afternoon, and Lukas and I spotted fish for a while in Bellefonte along the walkways, but Sam and I ended up only fishing Monday morning for about four hours.  I could not visit Central PA and not fish, and Sam and I did not connect this spring like we did the last couple, but both of us were trying to spend time with the families this week.  Call it good karma, but on the day we did fish we had a 30 fish morning with two or three fish over 17 inches, one pushing 19, so a very successful outing for a leisurely vacation time excursion.

My best of the morning.

So Tami could have my car to get coffee in the morning and so forth, Sam picked me up at our rental farm house at 5:30 AM.  I was up by 4 AM, drinking coffee after one of those bad night’s sleep that I am sure others have experienced while traveling, often that first night in a new space.  A bad bed, a little hot, a few drinks, pizza, Meyer’s Ice Cream, a lot driving on Sunday, a little anticipation of a good fishing morning ahead, and so on conspired to grant me a solid three hours, I estimate.  At least I didn’t miss any guides while putting my rod together and rigging up in the driveway in the morning.  Besides a little roughness on the nail knot I tied at home before we left home, I had most of my game in decent shape considering.  I did determine on Sunday afternoon that I had forgotten my waders, however.  I had my boots and socks.  Thankfully, Sam was able to lend me a pair from the shop for the day after talking me out of wet wading.  Once I was waist deep on a 60 degree morning in the 60 degree water of the creek, I thanked him a few times.

The first of the day, I believe.

Nymphing a pink tag fly as the anchor and a size 18 frenchie with a purple hot spot on the collar—sparse, nearly a perdigon profile—I had a great start to the morning, landing at least 10 fish on the short day.  I was still sharp early, especially at our first stop.  I landed at least one fish at each hole we visited, most of them quality fish.  We both landed a few dinks between 8 and 10 inches, at least one small holdover rainbow or fingerling stocker mid-growth, but also several good fish, ranging from 15 inches up to the kicker of the day, my solid 19 incher captured in a photo by Sam above, along with kneeling bearded man and scavenged net (I deleted your original email, so send me another message if you want it back this summer!).  

Content

Sam had just got done telling me that he saw a big fish in four inches of water here in this very spot during a night fishing excursion this summer, how he will shine a spotlight’s beam on the water after he’s finished fishing in order to see what he missed, how the big fish are often up in skinny water waiting on crayfish and sculpin and any other living mouthful that happens to find its way into the nighttime shallows.  He took the head of the run, and I brought up the rear, targeting a back eddy that swirls below a low hanging tree branch.  On my second drift, this fish, likely the same beauty he just described, took my anchor fly and put on a good exhibition of bulldogging.  No jumps but a good close quarters tug of water and one attempt to get downstream that I was not going to let happen.  I love when I can get away with 4X tippet!  My morning was quickly made.  Before we left for another spot, I caught at least two more fish in the 15 inch range, and so did Sam, but I would have been content right here.

Sam's best and a good story.

It was getting past 9 AM, and Sam had one more spot in mind where riffles are split by an island.  After a walk and some bushwhacking, Sam let me pick a side, and my side had a spot that could surely hold a beast.  We saw plenty of bugs all day, but the tricos were thick here.  Spent trico spinners were in the soft water at the head and tail of the island.  Fish were rising in the pools above and below us.  But it was getting hot and past 10 AM, which is when we told the others we would quit, so we were going to nymph this riffle and call it a day.  I caught a few little fish on my side, but before we even lost sight of each other in the high grass of the island, Sam had landed 5 fish, mostly on his drowned ant pattern or a weenie on the dropper. 

Tricos not pollen....

 His side of the island was on fire, and he too was in the zone.  As the sun gets up higher, the inchworms and ants get active, he says, and I have no reason to disagree after he put on a show for the last 45 minutes of the morning.  At one point I heard him whoop and call for me, so I backtracked to see him land his own good fish, probably only a hair shorter and skinnier than mine.  The fish attacked his rig when it was snagged on a tree limb in a deadfall, so after he broke off and retied, he tossed a single weenie back in the same spot and came tight to this great fish.  He continued to land more fish, including another that was probably 16 by my estimation from 30 feet downstream.  My mojo was moving in the complete opposite direction.  My exhaustion had caught up with me on the ride over to this second spot, and then we took a walk in the hot sun once we arrived, so I was getting a bit sloppier and lazier when I needed to be the sharpest—we were fishing fast runs with nothing but brush and branches over the small, deep pockets near the bank offering respite and cover for the fish in the bright sun.

Another angle on Sam's inchworm fish, I believe.

I landed one more and missed at least two others on this side of the island, but I bet Sam had over ten fish in the net in this short span.  I had some weenies, even a tungsten ant, but I was good watching the show.  Sam does not always fish his "A" game when I am out there, probably because he wants me to have a good time, and he enjoys the social fishing too.  He has been guiding a lot this year, however, so I was happy he took full advantage of his morning on the water.  He booked a half day for Wednesday with a client while we were out there, in fact!  While watching the man in action, I certainly learned a little about sunken terrestrial fishing.  July is not just tricos, beatles, and ants on the surface.  These fish ate those tumbling, drowned offerings like they were the high protein delicacies they no doubt are.  

A healthy average and numbers.

We both powered through the rest of our day, visiting Poe Paddy and the lake, doing the scenic overlook pics, watching the tubers float Penns Creek, getting dinner with the families.  I intended to take a nap, but instead hosed the dust off my car, packed up a bit, watched some television with the boy, sat some porch in the farm fresh air (that’s manure when the wind changes direction).  After a beer, I was still asleep by 10:30 PM and thought about getting out during the magic 7:30 to 9:30 AM window today, but I decided that Monday was enough.  It was a good mini-vacation and fun to hang with my family and the Galts in a shared space.  As we did our best to honor the cleaning checklist and pack the cars for home, I certainly slipped Sam some cash for my seasonal fix of his custom flies (maybe even some of those ants), but I saved enough money to take a ride into town and get the boy one more serving of ice cream from the Creamery on campus and Tami a good breakfast sandwich before we pointed the Subaru towards the excessive heat warnings of home.

Another of Sam's, maybe his first of many on the day.

July 12, 2019 – Looking for 100 not 1000 – Valley Creek

I was out there somewhere mid-decline...

I certainly did not wait until Valley was at an optimum level for streamer fishing this morning, but I was up at 4:30 AM and wanted to be fishing by 6 AM, whether the creek was a little too high or not.  Well, it was.  As you can see from the graph, it peaked at well over 1000 CFS, and the surrounding woods looked like it.  It was one of those mornings when one can skate on fresh mud along the well-travelled trails.  I even tried to rescue a sunfish from a puddle in the woods!   Had it been one of this year’s parr I may have been more diligent than I was, as I abandoned the effort once the fish got under a root ball along the trail.  Raccoon food if a bird of prey doesn’t get it first, I suppose.  The water was up last night for sure.  The Schuylkill already looked angry by 12 noon when I crossed it, and it had a ways to go before cresting.

Sunrise on a humid morning.

I was well upstream of the Park, where the gage was located, but I estimate that the creek was at 175 to 200 when I started this morning.  Gung ho, perhaps, because I knew Tami and the boy had plans today, but I also expected it to be hot and didn’t want to wait until 2 PM when the flows would be optimum but the water temp would be pushing 70, especially after a warm rain.  I took the water temp a couple times this morning before I quit at 11 AM, and it was in the high 60s when I did call it a day.  The reason I was more vigilant that most mornings is that I had to push past 10 AM to round out my day fishing in more favorable conditions with the nymphing rod.  I only stuck one good fish on the streamer, but I did manage to land 6 or 7 more while nymphing before I quit.

A pale one finally took the black leech with some weighted assistance.

A 15 and a 13 = not too shabby.

I started out throwing a bigger sculpin in some high percentage spots, and the thing sure looked like it was showing up in the stained water, at least to a certain depth.  I only got one bump in the first 90 minutes of fishing, however.  I could see the creek improving, so I just kept on practicing my casting.  I tried in tight to cover, I tried swinging more moderate flows, and then I changed to a small black leech pattern and finally landed what I was looking for, a solid 15 inch hen.  I caught this fish high sticking the streamer in some riffles with added weight (you might see the hefty split shot I used to get it down).  I thought maybe I had a pattern now, but I only had two more swipes and one bump before I quit the streamer rod.  I did witness a doe and her two fawns crossing the creek, so the one fish round one was not a total loss!  And round two ended up being short but more successful.

Others wet wading with me.

After taking a break at the car, I returned to the same stretch armed with a couple tungsten nymphs.  The anchor was a size 14 pink tag fly with some CDC on the collar too, and the dropper was the same little scud/larva that fish ate readily on Monocacy this week.  My first fish took the little dropper, and once again I thought maybe I had a pattern going.  The second fish, however, took the bigger jig in a deep seem and fought really well.  It was not another 15, but the measure-net had this hen at 13 inches.  She looked like she had swallowed a crayfish or one of her offspring, a big bulge in her gullet.  The colors on this fish were unreal.  Depending on the angle of the sun in which I held her, she looked muted or gaudy in equal measure, light on spots with many subtle hues popping.

Very pretty fish.

I took a water temperature after catching this fish because it was getting past 10:30 AM, and she was certainly a nice enough fish on which to end the morning.  My thermometer, even after hanging on my wading boot shoelaces for a couple minutes, was showing 66 at my feet in shallow water, so I figured I was okay for a bit longer if the deeper runs were a bit colder still.  I moved upstream through some riffles and another run, landing two more fish, on my way to one last high percentage hole, which did not disappoint.  I landed no more good fish, but I did land some more decent Valley fish ranging from 9 to 10 inches.   They were scrappy and well fed, much like their larger relatives, so I was enjoying the improved action.

No pattern, just persistence.

On the way up to this last hole, I had snipped off the dropper, choosing to fish just the bigger jig in the heavier current.  It worked as expected in the riffles, and I stuck the two aforementioned fish this way, but it also made for a cleaner sink in the eddy and odd hydraulics of the last spot I fished too.  Some longer tosses upstream and some patience as the single bug (and that CDC, no doubt) did their thing in this final deeper run and hole netted a couple more acrobatic and beautiful fish.  After taking a final picture, I saw that it was 11 AM.  I was in the shade and wet wading today, so plenty comfortable, but it was hot in the sun and it was not me I was worried about.  I spend a lot of time on Valley, as you may have noticed, so I have an affinity for these fish, though I haven’t named any yet.  Grateful to put together a good day after very slow start, I turned back and took a walk in the wet woods to my car.

Ended with one fast-sinking nymph and a few cooperative fish.

July 9, 2019 – Put a Beating on Them While Beating the Heat – Monocacy Creek

Small stream beauty.

I made a plan to get out early this morning and fish somewhere within an hour of home.  The flows looked great throughout the Lehigh Valley, and the overnight air temps felt cooler, so I was hoping for a good day.  I even packed up the car last night, remembering to bring the waders this time.  Wet wading is fun, but not in a limestoner at 5:45 AM.  I decided on Monocacy Creek, hoping to find a couple of the better fish I found the last time I was here in late April.  I arrived right after false dawn and suited up quickly.  The creek had a nice stain to it, and the flows were excellent for nymphing, so I was pretty excited at the prospects.  I landed a few small fish in the first hour, but there was a sweet spot from around 7:30 to 9:30 AM where the creek was fishing really, really well.  I landed just shy of 30 wild browns, I bet, ranging from the broad 15 incher pictured above down to about 9 inches.  Looking at the pictures on my phone, I counted at least 4 more small stream aces between 11 and 14 inches too.  It was a very productive 4 hours of fishing.

Many risky casts rewarded this morning.

The first hole I first targeted, sometimes a big fish hole, eventually gave up a 14 incher the second time I visited, but it did not give up much the first time.  It was dark under the trees before 6 AM, so I kept moving upstream figuring I would try it again after I fished two or three other runs upstream where I found good fish on April 29 of this year.  I definitely put together some numbers as the day got brighter.  I lost count at 20, and then I caught more fish.  Then I called Tami and contemplated heading home around 8:30 AM with a fine day by most measures on the books.  Instead, I decided to fish one more hour in a couple nice runs downstream of where I parked.  That was about when the day got a little silly.  Fish in holes that had more time to look took a size 18 tungsten scud/larva in gray, but in the riffles many took my size 14 anchor jig too.  Besides some very small caddis, I did not see much bug life, but the dropper was definitely the size of what I saw and vaguely caddis.

A handful of quality fish beyond the 15 incher too, including a couple in the 14 range.

Once I turned back downstream, I visited my first spot again and this time found a hot 14 inch fish that I thought was foul-hooked he fought so well.  I have had it happen before, but it’s rare when a fish wants to run right up the riffles into the hole upstream.  A 19 incher did it on the Lackawanna River not that long ago, I believe. No jumps for today’s first good fish, just wide-ranging runs all over the hole before coming to the net legally hooked in the jaw with my purple hot spot Frenchie.  I pulled a couple more smaller fish out of here before taking a longer walk down the creek to approach two more sets of riffle/run from below. 

These stretches were shallower and faster, but they had plenty of cover along the banks, mostly from overhanging trees, brush, and deadfalls.  By tucking the nymphs up under the cover and close to sunken logs and mid-stream boulders, I caught a run of good fish to end the morning.  The best was the 15 incher, who jumped three times and tried to ditch me on both banks.  I was glad to have the measure net to record accurately the size of some of the fish I landed today, but I was wishing for one of my bigger nets on a couple of these final browns because they would just not quit.  I should have lost one about 13 inches that I swiped at with the net and missed twice in a fast riffle.  I kept on all but one of the better fish I hooked today, losing only one 12 incher after he got below me and then nearly through my legs.  Landing nice fish from small creeks is a lot of fun, but it can be hard on the heart sometimes!

A couple pretty ones.

While it started out cool, the day warmed quickly.  The water temperature was in the low 60s, but I knew it was going to get hot today, so I planned to quit fishing by 10 or 10:30 AM, which is my usual move if I trout fish this time of year.  I am glad I did not quit at 8:30 AM when I thought about it and settle for 20 average-sized fish, though.  The final hour was a lot of fun and much easier fishing than the first two hours, for sure.  I took a lot of pictures today, so it is hard to make out which fish was which or to piece together a timeline, so I am just sharing a bunch of photos that turned out, despite humidity and low light early in the morning.  Most of the better shots came in this final hour in sunshine.

A nice average too.

I was home by 11:15 AM and actually went to the movies with the boy at 2 PM and didn’t fall asleep in the recliner while young Peter Parker tried to balance Avenger status with young love.  I will likely sleep well tonight, however, which is good since I start another round of summer classes tomorrow and Thursday nights.  Heading to State College with the family on Sunday for a few days, so I hope Sam and I get into a little something at least one of those days, as fishing has been good by his accounts.  Not sure what the rest of the week holds, but today was a keeper for sure.

No measure net next week!

July 4, 2019 – Where I Exercise Some Responsible Freedom – Bushkill Creek

The moment one regrets the wet wading choice.

Today I play with a quote by the so-called patriot poet, Roger W. Hancock: “Liberty is maintained by responsible freedom.”  No, it’s not a fishing quotation, but it does mean I showed a little self-control this holiday morning and only logged about 4 hours, most of it while my family still slept, on the Bushkill near Easton. I was hoping to hook a good one, so I fished the first three hours with a big streamer.  The water was stained, but it was not stained enough, even in the lower light of 6 to 8 AM, to make any pigs feel overly secure and pounce on my big sculpin.  I had a few bumps and landed one brook trout in the first hour, I bet.  I kept at it, though, and I did finally move one big brown that had to have been 20 inches.  The fish followed the sculpin for a few feet, slowly pursuing the streamer from some riffles into a soft spot between two runs, before it turned back.  I couldn’t get it to move again, but I was happy to see it!  I hooked a monster while nymphing last year in this general area, and I never had a chance when he immediately ran downstream of me in heavier water, popping off when I tried to take some control back in the battle.  One of my white whales and one of the reasons I took the ride this morning.

One fish in the first hour....

When I parked in the morning, I hoofed it upstream in order to fish back to the car, just in case I wanted to or needed to nymph after streamer fishing.  I was wet wading for the first time this year, and the air temps were in the low seventies at 6 AM, so the walk was a good way to build up a little body heat also.  The water temps are still hovering around 60 or less, so even in the cool morning air, there was a mist hanging over the creek.  I had hopes that some tricos might make a showing as the sun got higher, and I saw a few, but there were no early morning risers in one of my go-to spots.  Instead of waiting any longer for them, I kept pushing downstream with the big streamer and ended up landing two very nice rainbows, one close to 17 inches and hot.  Both fish grabbed the streamer with no hesitation and went immediately airborne. I would have preferred a big old brown, but these two fish were pretty plumpers that have been thriving in the cool limestone-fed waters.  My trip was made in short order.  When I reached the car, I fished one last hole below where I parked and had a couple nips on the big streamer.  When switching to a smaller bugger proved not to be the answer, I decided to spend my last hour on the creek in this final hole with my nymphing rod. 

Small bugs readily taken, however.

The parking lot was bumpin’, yo.  Cyclist, joggers, gear fishermen, all out early trying to get some outdoor time in before the heat.  Try wet wedding at 6 AM, I say!  The heat from the asphalt felt good, but I could already tell it was going to be another hot day.  I planned to quit by 10 AM, to beat the heat and spend the rest of the day with the family, but it was only a little after 9 AM.  After tossing my streamer rod into the back of the Subaru and grabbing my 10 foot 3 weight, I spent the next 45 minutes or so nymphing up 5 more holdover rainbows.  Half took a size 18 sexy walt’s on the dropper, so small bugs seemed to be the ticket.  I did land a couple on the size 14 tungsten tag fly jig too, however.  I was rigged up with a green weenie on the dropper, but I didn’t stick with it long enough to see if it could have become a difference maker.  I needed the extra tungsten weight of the walt’s worm in the heavier and deeper water where I ended up fishing.  The fish were feisty and readily took the flies, so no heat stress yet.  I may have to take another trip or two this month to hunt for trico hatches and nymph the riffles.  My white whales still escape capture too. 

Quite the holdover specimen took the sculpin.

At about 9:45 AM, I snuck back up to the hole where I landed the two bigger rainbows, hoping I might find another.  There is also a small side pocket that historically holds a wild brown or two for me.  In fact, I moved a small fish from cover with the streamer here just before I landed the rainbows.  I miffed the hook set, but I think I saw a pretty little brown turn in the shadow line of a big boulder after taking a peck at my nymphs.  I wanted to keep fishing, but I remembered my self-imposed quitting time was approaching, and I remembered how hot the paved parking was even an hour ago, so I thought it best not to push it.  I know that if I am willing to get up early enough I will still find some fish within an hour of home this month.  Better to exercise some responsible freedom this morning and hit the road as planned.

Not the one, but fun.

Deep Thoughts # 8 – The Greatest Love of All

"That Adam loved Eden before he loved Eve" – Douglas Malloch (poet, American)

A little more than a year ago, Reelin’ Ron gave me a book of fishing quotations collected by John Merwin, and I entertained the idea of doing a series of deep thoughts inspired by some favorite ones I found while taking care of business each morning in the room my son Lukas and I call the fisherman’s bathroom.  The book is still in there, as it fits the room’s eponymous décor, which is comprised of all fishing-related things I have been given or collected over the years.  I don’t have a proper office anymore, but I have an office, you see. The quote above came from a poem in that book, which I still peruse often, and it can be read as a mildly sexist comment about the fights that (fisher)men have with their partners about the time we spend chasing fish, researching spots, tying flies, reading book and magazines, watching first person point of view footage of other dudes fishing on YouTube, reading blogs (thanks, fellas) and so on.  “My wife says she’s leaving me if I don’t stop fishing,” goes one old t-shirt I remember seeing on camo-ed pot bellies wandering around the sportsman show at the Pennsylvania Farm Show Complex in my youth.  “I sure am going to miss her.”  

But the quote can also be read through the lens of the importance of nature in our lives, the need to be outside with the fishes, flora and other fauna.  Yes, sometimes we need to catch fish and kill them and eat them or shoot deer or turkey and kill them and eat them, but I think if martial law was enacted, and we were told that we could fish and hunt but kill nothing we would still fish, perhaps hunt with a camera instead.  The experience trumps the quarry, and I don’t mean to say that I am a fisherman who sits bankside and watches the butterflies.  No, I am usually in total concentration mode, but the trip’s bookends and the small moments of grace and appreciation that bubble up during the more quotidian moments of fishing are important.  I do notice where I am and am grateful for Eden, even if Eden is presented to me in the form of a tiny wild trout surviving highway run-off and lawn fertilizer bloom just minutes from urban sprawl.

Hus, me, James, Zakhi.

The fact that teachers like Hussein from the Project Learn School in the Mount Airy neighborhood of Philadelphia want to put students in this urbanized Eden in hopes of hooking a few students with the lure of fishing, hiking, nature, well, that is something that speaks to my own mission in life, I suppose.  Consider it kismet, then, that I encountered a trio of young boys fishing on a Wednesday morning along the banks of one of my urban oases, the Wissahickon Creek.  I ended up helping them for about thirty minutes before I met their teacher, who had an entire small class of students of several ages and both genders, most if not all of them from the City, out there in the woods; “Woods School,” I later learned they call it, in fact.  Hus and I exchanged numbers, and I promised that I would dig around in my garage, my other fishing office, and call on my fishing buddies in order to put together some more fishing supplies for his class.  Between Jay, Kenny, and my dad, I think we put together a collection of stuff that sort of overwhelmed Hussein.  He returned the favor, however.  When I finally found a day that worked for both of us to deliver the fishing tackle to the school, he asked if I wanted to come in for a minute and say hello to the kids.  I was greeted out front by Hus and two of the boys I originally met that day on the Wissy, James and Zakhi, and they helped me carry into the school the fishing rods, terminal tackle, lures, nets, vests, and other tools that the guys and I put together for the class. 

Sick Days Fishing's first award.

When I got inside this small school, a community cooperative school with an admirable mission beyond Hussein’s “Woods School,” they were in the middle of an end-of-the-year assembly.  The entire small school population, teachers, kids, and administrators were there in a small great-room at the front of school, crossed-leg on the floor, leaning back in folding chairs, wondering who this old dude with the beard was at their meeting.  I had to say a few words—I teach public speaking, so that was not an issue, thank goodness—and then the boys presented me with a handmade certificate of appreciation with notes of thanks from all the kids I encountered that day on the creek.  I expected none of this, of course!  The certificate belongs to Jay and Kenny and Joe as much as me, too.  I just wanted to support Hussein’s personal mission to teach fishing to kids from the City.  The day I met them, he was running low on lures.  He supplied most of what they used from his own collection, which was going to run out some day.  I hope he keeps fishing with the kids long enough that I need to put out a call for more supplies in a few years.

The boy's been in woods school since shortly after conception.  Green Lane on Monday this week.  Will it take?

If time in nature, if fishing, getting up close and personal with one of the creatures of Eden, wherever that may be, hooks just a couple of Hus’s students, then he’s done a great thing for someone.  Fishing may become a hobby for a few more of them, and they may pass it on to their kids and so and so on.  I believe the children are the future of the sport, and all that.  But one or two of those kids may find that fishing is more than a hobby or sport.  I love my wife and son, along with writing, literature, and music, but I could not live without the gifts that fishing has given me over the years, and those who love me know that.  Those gifts are personal, much like yours, I am sure, and they have met certain needs at certain times of my life—therapy, family time, friendship, worship, lifelong learning, paying it forward and backward.  I still believe that things happen for a reason, and I am happy that I happened upon those boys in the woods on a Wednesday morning, and that I wasn’t too preoccupied to take some time and lend them a hand.  They obviously helped me too, and perhaps gave me a new purpose.