Bennett Spring - Our Anniversary
For the past few years we’ve celebrated our anniversary at Bennett Spring State Park and this year we continued that tradition at our favorite cabin, #16.
For some reason this year I was a little more concerned than usual about firewood. There’s a lady in Louisburg where we stop to get it - it’s always excellent wood and at $5 for 25 pieces (yes, you read that correctly) it’s a bargain that simply can’t be found elsewhere. So naturally I worry every year that it won’t be there.
So I looked the place up on Google Earth, street view. The latest picture was January, 2014 - we had last been there in October, 2013 - and it showed no firewood and what looked like a for sale sign, though the sign was covered with a message on cardboard I couldn’t read.
Oh dear. Well, if it was gone, I supposed we could buy firewood in camp like everyone else. But when we got there, there was the wood - though a much smaller pile than in previous years - and no for sale sign. I asked the lady - I really should get her name - if she would still have wood if we came back in October, and she smiled and said, “Oh, probably.”
Sunday, September 21
Aside from the delight at getting the firewood, the drive down was uneventful and we listened to Colin Fletcher’s “Walking/Learn of the Green World” on the way. (The cover says “Walking the Green World,” the tapes themselves say “Learn of...” Go figure.) Fletcher has long been a favorite of mine - his “New Complete Walker” got me into backpacking back in the '70s, though I haven’t done it for decades and finally sold off the internal frame pack I bought in the late ‘80s and never used. He was also a passionate fly fisherman: in his words, "Anyone with the wit to resist the widespread fallacy that you go fishing mainly in order to catch fish will understand that spinning is a barbarous way to catch trout." Which something I always hear in my head when I see all the people spinning for trout at Bennett.
We stopped at Osceola Cheese to pick up some morel & leek cheese for Sonya, who watches our kitties while we’re gone. It wasn’t quite the same, though, since Kate’s off dairy and didn’t come in to peruse all the free samples - instead, she sat in the Jeep and sketched. Probably just as well - the place was a madhouse! I’d never seen a line for the registers so long.
Fishing Sunday afternoon was a bust. I got a couple of nibbles but no strikes. So we had dinner at the lodge. The grilled grouper sounded good, but it was a bit overdone & dry.
Monday, September 22
Our seventh anniversary. I was up early enough to be on the water not long after the opening siren. How many women do you suppose would not only support their man to go fishing on their anniversary, but encourage him to do so? Am I blessed or what?! One 9" fish was all I had to show for the morning. It was very frustrating because around 1000 the fish were rising like crazy directly over the spring hole and I just couldn’t get into position. Ah well. Back to the cabin for breakfast.
That afternoon, Kate dropped me off at the spring and took off to sketch. An inauspicious beginning to the afternoon’s fishing was losing a fly on the first strike - I can only blame a poor knot. I had just tied on a new fly - a #22 Griffith’s Gnat, the smallest I’ve ever used - using the hangman’s style knot I’ve always used. So I tied on another, this time using a standard clinch knot. I’m pleased to report that the little Eye Tie tool works beautifully to thread a gossamer tippet through the eyes of these tiny hooks. Here’s the web page for the tool - http://www.eyetietool.com/. Making sure of my knot I returned to the water. Before long I had three very nice (10 ½-11 ½") trout. Four being the daily limit and not being one for catch & release, I was done for the day.
Tuesday, September 23 - Autumnal Equinox
Rather chilly this morning so instead of hitting the water first thing I stoked up the fire and started writing this. Finally got out around 1030 and came back in about an hour with a nice 13" trout.
We then decided to go check out Mac Creed's Art Gallery since they had indicated an interest in carrying Kate’s work. Lo, they are closed Sunday thru Wednesday. So instead we went to Reading’s Fly Shop, where we met the owner, Charlie Reading. A fascinating man, with LOTS of stories to tell. Had to pry ourselves away so I could get back on the river and Kate could get back to sketching.
That afternoon was just one of those days that, on the whole, was good even though it was filled with lots of little things going wrong. I don’t know if it was the brand of flies I was using - I wouldn’t think so - or what exactly was going on, but I had several strikes where I failed to set the hook, three fish on the line that managed to slip the hook, and two hooks completely taken, one of which was obviously due to a broken tippet. I replaced the fly on that tippet - though there was only about a foot and a half of it left, then decided that the condition of the tippet was such that I should simply replace the whole thing. So I waded in to shore - I don’t like trying to hold my rod while replacing a tippet, even if I do use Bimini tippets, which are very easy to replace. I had been dragging my line behind me and just as I reached the shore, I got a strike! I said to Kate, who was standing right there, “I LOVE it when that happens!” Then, after bringing the fish in to net, it slipped the hook. So what else could I say? “And I HATE it when THAT happens!”
With a new tippet and fly in place, I went back out to the middle of the river - the water is so low that even wearing only hip waders this was easily do-able - and eventually caught two nice 9" trout before managing to snag my fly on a branch in the water that I had been casting near. Pulled my line loose but there was not enough tippet left to tie a fly to so back to the opposite shore - only the northeast side of the water is accessible - for a new tippet & fly.
By this time it was getting late - around 1800 - and I was getting cold. Kate brought me my jacket, which I eventually put on, but I was done catching fish for the day and got out a little early - around 1900. Note: fishing ends for the day at 1915. Back to the cabin for dinner, a lovely Equinox celebration, and a roaring fire.
You know, in spite of all those little occurrences (I left out the jerks - one talking loudly on his cell phone about two-prong connections and two conversing, also loudly, about various economic ventures), the worst day on the river is still better than the best day in the office. My office days are behind me but even a “bad” day on the river is still very good indeed. Kate says she loves to see me so happy and focused when I’m fishing, and I have to say there is definitely a zen-like quality to it. By that I mean there are few activities where I experience “be here now” to such an extent, where everything else simply goes away. All cares, worries, distractions - yes, even jerks - simply cease to exist in my consciousness, and it’s just me and the fly and the fish. Even when encountering a muskrat - who Kate assures me nearly swam between my legs - I barely notice.
If it’s a form of meditation, it’s one that involves standing in cold water for hours on end and that should leave me totally exhausted. Instead, I find myself simply tired but also in many ways, refreshed.
Wednesday, September 24
Packed up, had our traditional parting breakfast at the Lodge, and hit the road for home. Passing through Louisburg we noticed that all the remaining wood was gone! If we come back next month, I do hope she has more! On the way home we finished listening to Fletcher’s serious and thoughtful travel adventures and started in on those of Tim Cahill - which are much funnier - in “Jaguars Ripped My Flesh.” Later that evening after everything was packed and put away (and dinner at Peking) I was surprised to learn that Kate had filled seventeen pages with sketches!
For some reason this year I was a little more concerned than usual about firewood. There’s a lady in Louisburg where we stop to get it - it’s always excellent wood and at $5 for 25 pieces (yes, you read that correctly) it’s a bargain that simply can’t be found elsewhere. So naturally I worry every year that it won’t be there.
So I looked the place up on Google Earth, street view. The latest picture was January, 2014 - we had last been there in October, 2013 - and it showed no firewood and what looked like a for sale sign, though the sign was covered with a message on cardboard I couldn’t read.
Oh dear. Well, if it was gone, I supposed we could buy firewood in camp like everyone else. But when we got there, there was the wood - though a much smaller pile than in previous years - and no for sale sign. I asked the lady - I really should get her name - if she would still have wood if we came back in October, and she smiled and said, “Oh, probably.”
Sunday, September 21
Aside from the delight at getting the firewood, the drive down was uneventful and we listened to Colin Fletcher’s “Walking/Learn of the Green World” on the way. (The cover says “Walking the Green World,” the tapes themselves say “Learn of...” Go figure.) Fletcher has long been a favorite of mine - his “New Complete Walker” got me into backpacking back in the '70s, though I haven’t done it for decades and finally sold off the internal frame pack I bought in the late ‘80s and never used. He was also a passionate fly fisherman: in his words, "Anyone with the wit to resist the widespread fallacy that you go fishing mainly in order to catch fish will understand that spinning is a barbarous way to catch trout." Which something I always hear in my head when I see all the people spinning for trout at Bennett.
We stopped at Osceola Cheese to pick up some morel & leek cheese for Sonya, who watches our kitties while we’re gone. It wasn’t quite the same, though, since Kate’s off dairy and didn’t come in to peruse all the free samples - instead, she sat in the Jeep and sketched. Probably just as well - the place was a madhouse! I’d never seen a line for the registers so long.
Fishing Sunday afternoon was a bust. I got a couple of nibbles but no strikes. So we had dinner at the lodge. The grilled grouper sounded good, but it was a bit overdone & dry.
Monday, September 22
Our seventh anniversary. I was up early enough to be on the water not long after the opening siren. How many women do you suppose would not only support their man to go fishing on their anniversary, but encourage him to do so? Am I blessed or what?! One 9" fish was all I had to show for the morning. It was very frustrating because around 1000 the fish were rising like crazy directly over the spring hole and I just couldn’t get into position. Ah well. Back to the cabin for breakfast.
That afternoon, Kate dropped me off at the spring and took off to sketch. An inauspicious beginning to the afternoon’s fishing was losing a fly on the first strike - I can only blame a poor knot. I had just tied on a new fly - a #22 Griffith’s Gnat, the smallest I’ve ever used - using the hangman’s style knot I’ve always used. So I tied on another, this time using a standard clinch knot. I’m pleased to report that the little Eye Tie tool works beautifully to thread a gossamer tippet through the eyes of these tiny hooks. Here’s the web page for the tool - http://www.eyetietool.com/. Making sure of my knot I returned to the water. Before long I had three very nice (10 ½-11 ½") trout. Four being the daily limit and not being one for catch & release, I was done for the day.
Tuesday, September 23 - Autumnal Equinox
Rather chilly this morning so instead of hitting the water first thing I stoked up the fire and started writing this. Finally got out around 1030 and came back in about an hour with a nice 13" trout.
We then decided to go check out Mac Creed's Art Gallery since they had indicated an interest in carrying Kate’s work. Lo, they are closed Sunday thru Wednesday. So instead we went to Reading’s Fly Shop, where we met the owner, Charlie Reading. A fascinating man, with LOTS of stories to tell. Had to pry ourselves away so I could get back on the river and Kate could get back to sketching.
That afternoon was just one of those days that, on the whole, was good even though it was filled with lots of little things going wrong. I don’t know if it was the brand of flies I was using - I wouldn’t think so - or what exactly was going on, but I had several strikes where I failed to set the hook, three fish on the line that managed to slip the hook, and two hooks completely taken, one of which was obviously due to a broken tippet. I replaced the fly on that tippet - though there was only about a foot and a half of it left, then decided that the condition of the tippet was such that I should simply replace the whole thing. So I waded in to shore - I don’t like trying to hold my rod while replacing a tippet, even if I do use Bimini tippets, which are very easy to replace. I had been dragging my line behind me and just as I reached the shore, I got a strike! I said to Kate, who was standing right there, “I LOVE it when that happens!” Then, after bringing the fish in to net, it slipped the hook. So what else could I say? “And I HATE it when THAT happens!”
With a new tippet and fly in place, I went back out to the middle of the river - the water is so low that even wearing only hip waders this was easily do-able - and eventually caught two nice 9" trout before managing to snag my fly on a branch in the water that I had been casting near. Pulled my line loose but there was not enough tippet left to tie a fly to so back to the opposite shore - only the northeast side of the water is accessible - for a new tippet & fly.
By this time it was getting late - around 1800 - and I was getting cold. Kate brought me my jacket, which I eventually put on, but I was done catching fish for the day and got out a little early - around 1900. Note: fishing ends for the day at 1915. Back to the cabin for dinner, a lovely Equinox celebration, and a roaring fire.
You know, in spite of all those little occurrences (I left out the jerks - one talking loudly on his cell phone about two-prong connections and two conversing, also loudly, about various economic ventures), the worst day on the river is still better than the best day in the office. My office days are behind me but even a “bad” day on the river is still very good indeed. Kate says she loves to see me so happy and focused when I’m fishing, and I have to say there is definitely a zen-like quality to it. By that I mean there are few activities where I experience “be here now” to such an extent, where everything else simply goes away. All cares, worries, distractions - yes, even jerks - simply cease to exist in my consciousness, and it’s just me and the fly and the fish. Even when encountering a muskrat - who Kate assures me nearly swam between my legs - I barely notice.
If it’s a form of meditation, it’s one that involves standing in cold water for hours on end and that should leave me totally exhausted. Instead, I find myself simply tired but also in many ways, refreshed.
Wednesday, September 24
Packed up, had our traditional parting breakfast at the Lodge, and hit the road for home. Passing through Louisburg we noticed that all the remaining wood was gone! If we come back next month, I do hope she has more! On the way home we finished listening to Fletcher’s serious and thoughtful travel adventures and started in on those of Tim Cahill - which are much funnier - in “Jaguars Ripped My Flesh.” Later that evening after everything was packed and put away (and dinner at Peking) I was surprised to learn that Kate had filled seventeen pages with sketches!