Farsighted readers of this mind blog will know that it's customary at the compound to eat fish on Fridays, which means go out and catch some fish, then cook them. And that's what happened.
At first the spillway side of the dam was empty and I had that tranquil moment of casting off into the depths of the pool in search of fish. Then a kid turned up with an assortment of rods and started fishing for Gar in earnest. I admired his enthusiasm and wished him luck. He was using baby Shad as bait.
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| Downriver |
Then two gentlemen tipped up and began working the pool. They seemed pretty serious, big nets, battle rods and the grizzled look of experience, which tokens fishing respect. They were using lures and cut bait, going after Striper.
So there it was, a skirmish line of fishermen competing for the catch of the day. And here's the thing, the lures didn't work, the cut bait didn't work and neither did the Shad. But the Weightless Worm Rig (WWR) did, the fish liked it. Lots of them, to everyone else's washout.
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| Get The Kid on The Fish |
After a while, the grizzled veterans upped stakes and headed off, leaving me and the Gar fisher; I turned him on to the WWR. Excited, he ran off and bought some worms and it wasn't long before he was pulling fish out of the water like a good 'un. I thought that was great and so did he, running around the pier with tremendous gusto. Go for it, kid. A happy moment.
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| Fillet That Fish, LSP |
A crew of fishing technocrats from Vietnam (?) were next to arrive. Massive hyper-rods, long range casting floats, the whole array of fishing technology went into action against the submerged opposition. And... nothing. Meanwhile, the weightless worm riggers were reeling in the fun. There's a moral in that, somewhere.
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| Eat Your Scoff Like a Warrior |
I gave our SE Asian friends the worm tip on the way out, they were grateful, and cooked up a fat Bluegill when I got back to the Compound. The rest of the fish are on ice.
Keep it simple,
LSP
