I must confess that it has been a while since I have suffered the debilitating results of fishlessness. But I did so the other day. I took my good old friend and former elder in our church, Gordon Wilson, fishing. Gordon is a great outdoorsman, loves bugs, snakes, birds and all things wild. However, Gordon is not a big fisher. I thought I could convert him on one of my wildly successful fishing trips.
The water level and clarity was good. The weather was perfect. We had the right baits, at least we thought so. So, we loaded up the canoe and headed for the James. But here is the sobering fact. Sometimes the fish don't bite.
We caught some, he and I. A few. But I think I caught a few more.
We were on a great stretch of river with an abundance of smallmouths and a fairly high percentage of large fish. Didn't matter. A few hours after casting off, our casts were less than enthusiastic. The expectations were waning. The futility was waxing.
I think I convinced Gordon that fishing was much like his opinion of baseball. He is not impressed by either and they are my two favorite past times. By the end of our float, he was floating his smallmouth offerings around the tip of the canoe in a haphazard way with about four feet of line out. I think he would have much preferred to hopping out and flipping over some rocks. At least then, he could have caught some bugs.
I know that fishing is great fun and there are many fish to catch. Gordon doesn't know but I do. They've got to bite sometime. I'll just keep casting until I catch one.
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