Fly Fishing
Recently I indulged in the joy of finally having a vehicle at my disposal and decided to visit the Chattahoochee river.
It was an unexpectedly cold morning...oh, wait, that sounds way too dramatic. In fact of *course* it was a cold morning. It had just rained the day before and it's winter. What *else* should I expect!
Anyway, I settled myself on a rock, which in milder weather would have been very comfortable. However, in temperatures below 40, I was worried that my posterior would freeze to the stone. Not to mention my fingers ached as they held my book.
Though it may seem I'm a glutton for punishment, the fly fishers made me look warm.
There they were wading out in the frigid water, flicking their lines back and forth. For what? After all this part of the Chattahoochee is not known for it's pristine waters.
I also amused myself by watching large clumps of foam that resembled industrial products escaping from a fire. I wondered if they would stick against an object in the water, float on by, or break apart only to reassemble like some mutant creature.
All the while the men are still fishing.
I remember reading that water has to have this perfect level of oxygen and purity in order to support trout. That's what they're trying to catch with flies right? Well even if they're not, there's still signs all over the place warning about eating the fish. As if seeing all the trash and goo wasn't enough of a warning (oh, and don't forget the mutant foam)
I never did see them catch anything. Not that I really expected them to.
It was an unexpectedly cold morning...oh, wait, that sounds way too dramatic. In fact of *course* it was a cold morning. It had just rained the day before and it's winter. What *else* should I expect!
Anyway, I settled myself on a rock, which in milder weather would have been very comfortable. However, in temperatures below 40, I was worried that my posterior would freeze to the stone. Not to mention my fingers ached as they held my book.
Though it may seem I'm a glutton for punishment, the fly fishers made me look warm.
There they were wading out in the frigid water, flicking their lines back and forth. For what? After all this part of the Chattahoochee is not known for it's pristine waters.
I also amused myself by watching large clumps of foam that resembled industrial products escaping from a fire. I wondered if they would stick against an object in the water, float on by, or break apart only to reassemble like some mutant creature.
All the while the men are still fishing.
I remember reading that water has to have this perfect level of oxygen and purity in order to support trout. That's what they're trying to catch with flies right? Well even if they're not, there's still signs all over the place warning about eating the fish. As if seeing all the trash and goo wasn't enough of a warning (oh, and don't forget the mutant foam)
I never did see them catch anything. Not that I really expected them to.