So I am beginning to think COVID-19 has spread to local fishing holes, leading them to self-isolate well away from us fisher folk.
At least that appears to be the case in locales I鈥檝e thrown a line this spring.
After an opening season trip that landed only one pike, my son and I wanted some fish, so it was off to our go-to-for-fish sport at Cutarm Creek south of Churchbridge.
The spot has always been a good one for fish, typically lots of fish, albeit perch, and not chubby perch at that. I鈥檝e been told the water is actually over-populated, so no fish grow overly big, but hey when you can be bring in two at a time on a jig does it matter if one has to go back to grow a bit more?
In this instance we were thinking a dozen, or so perch would be great to fire up the smoker again. I was already running marinate recipes in my head, something with honey, hot sauce, apple juice, soy sauce and whatever spices would catch my eye when I opened the spice cupboard. I like experimenting in the kitchen, and tend to be pretty good at it. The plan was set.
We arrive at the spot, and see a father and two children already fishing. That is always great to see. It is good to see a dad teaching his children to appreciate the outdoors, and of course how to fish. I am certainly happy both my kids, now well-grown of course, enjoy tossing hooks.
Interestingly, I occasionally get asked by someone to recommend a spot to take youngsters fishing for their first time, which generally means little ability to cast, and the attention span of a honey bee in a field of clover. Cutarm is the spot. I鈥檝e caught perch on small spoons, jigs, and on a poorly cast fly line with some cheap store-bought fly. I am pretty sure a bent nail would entice the usually hungry perch.
But this warm morning I was chagrined to learn the dad and kids were just packing up to go home, skunked for their efforts.
Now you never know the ability of fisher folk, so one person鈥檚 woes do not always mean you are in for a bad day, but it sure isn鈥檛 a positive sign, and in this case it was sad, kids become addicted to fishing when they experience catching fish early on.
So my son and I had the area to ourselves, so social distancing was rather easy, although if two fishermen are casting you best have more than six-feet between them or one might well have a Len Thompson ear ring before the day is over.
We made up our jigs with some tasty minnows as an enticement for the perch, threw out the lines and expected a tug.
By now you might have an inkling that this tale is going to have a sad ending, and you would be partially right.
We waited. We talked sports, and board games and TV shows. We waited some more.
We moved spots.
We waited some more.
We talked some more 鈥� thankfully I have raised good kids, and my son shares most of my interests, so talking is pretty easy.
We waited a bit more.
So how bad was the fishing?
Well, little perch can be pesky on bad days. They can steal a minnow and avoid the hook with some alacrity and panache. On this day they didn鈥檛 even offer us that much attention. I lost minnow on a cast once, but that was it.
So the fishing, or at least catching was bad, terrible, abysmal even.
Ah, but the day it was a grand one.
It was a warm day in May. I was outdoors, the air fresh, the red-winged blackbirds singing nearby and wood ticks not yet a plague to be detested. I was with my son doing something we both enjoyed. Never lose sight of the possibility to enjoy the simplest of things.
Would some smoked fish been nice?
Of course they would have been a tasty treat, but we live in expectation of more fish on another outing real soon. If not, hey give me some fresh air. Let me connect with nature. Let me enjoy some family time. At times I鈥檓 not even sure a fishing rod is required to enjoy such days.
The first in the 2020 series can be found here;
