With Foam all things are possible

Jonny,

I worked on the trim around the new bathroom closet door most of the afternoon, plus some other shit like that. It's hot and humid and miserable so when we got done I thought I'd go fish before I finally got cleaned up and showered.  River is still a bit high and off-color and I was fishing by myself (wading), all of which means I almost immediately got discouraged.  When a kayaker came by and said he'd floated about five miles without a bite, I got more discouraged.  When my leader got tangled fiercely, I almost broke the rod over my knee.  Instead, I just pulled the tangle snugly until the knot it created resembled a pit of snakes.  Because I knew I wasn't going to catch any fish.  So who cares if your leader has a giant knot.  Right?

I shortly thereafter caught the small bass, in a spot exactly where a bass should have been.

Colorful and sprightly, but small.

This was a little encouraging so I decided to fish a little farther just so I could cover a few submerged rocks and work some weeds along the near bank.  There was a very dark calm back eddy under some overhanging tree branches that looked inviting so I put my fly there on three consecutive casts, each one just a foot or so farther downstream than the last, and on this third one the big bass took the fly in an explosive take that probably made me piss myself (I was wading, so it was hard to say.).  When I set the hook, there was absolutely no "give" so I knew the fish was solid.  It jumped and I could see it, and that's when I started to get nervous about the leader.  The fish left the back eddy and got into the main current, which was shallow and fast, so the fish was really pulling.  It jumped once more, and then eventually after what was a fairly long fight I steered it over to the backside weeds and was able to lip it.  The fly was ruined and I was satisfied, so I walked back upstream to the car and sent you that text.  I was on the water for perhaps 45 minutes, and covered about 600 feet of river.

Now I'm drinking a beer.

Yellow popper was my most productive fly on this day.

Summer in the midwest: a user's guide

May:  Summer begins in May when the last exams are graded and final grades have been submitted.  This summer, I prepared for three in anticipation of Jonny's and Zakur's visit.

With foam all things are possible

I did a little point hunting before the corn got high.  May was rainy, so fishing was difficult.

Scouted for carp, largely to no avail.  The few I saw did not play nice.

Carp proved challenging.

Explored a bit in the new kayak on those rare occasions when the river was navigable.

Navigable water: rare for this spring

Got the boy out a couple times.

Attended a minor league game on a beautiful summer evening.

Sport

She let the boys eat ballpark junk food, a minor miracle and they knew it.

June:  Like May, June was wet.  Real wet.  Second wettest June on record.

To put it in perspective: I like to fish this water at about 350 CFS.  May and June are dead to me.

All plans to float for smallmouth had to be nixed.  Instead, when EJ and Z arrived we headed to the lake country for a bit of camping and, hopefully, some quality largemouth bass fishing.

EJ and Z set up camp.  I've lived in apartments smaller than this tent.

Rain.  The boats were there in case we needed to escape.

Photographing a frog early in the trip; enthusiasm still high.

Still raining.  EJ pores over a vintage Gray's Sporting Journal, circa 1978 (which is also when he bought those socks.)

Morning breaks moderately clear.  EJ fries bagels in leftover bacon grease.  Pure genius.

Our evening ritual: three casts and you're out.

Shoving off the first morning; manageable drizzle.

Small, but an honest-to-God fish, dammit.

Skies clear; fishing becomes tough.

We load for another lake.

It begins to rain again.

The weather on the lakes was unpredictable.  The fishing was, unfortunately, quite predictable.  We managed a few small fish and decided we'd had enough.

We leave the lakes, defeated.

We stopped at a small stream that had dropped to wadable levels, but it was still off-color and largely non-cooperative.

Z works the fast stuff.

EJ works the slow.

Only fish from the small stream: a straggling white bass.  Jonny adds a new fish to his life list.

Jonny and Z left to chase eastern trout, and I started to explore some other local waters.

I found a beautiful little stream, near to home and with enough willing fish that I can probably say it saved my mind.

Did a bit more point hunting with a friend.

One field gave up six cups of these black raspberries.  This is summer in Indiana.

July:  Rivers were still moody, but I found time to get some fish on waters familiar and new.

First gar: a strange and interesting fish.

Aftermath of a whitefly (Ephoron species) hatch.  I wish I'd been there yesterday.

Ben took me to one of his locals, just a trickle but full of small willing smallmouth, and a few bigger ones as it turns out…

We knew it was big at this point.

My turn.

August:  By now, the tomatoes in the garden were pure perfection and for reasons unknown, a pond that I had written off started producing largemouth again.

Ben and I floated a long stretch of new river, reputed to be one of the best smallmouth rivers in the state.  It was a challenging river to fish, but worth it in the end.

The home river continues to be fickle, but gives in now and then.

Tricos, I think.

And the pond…well, she and I both do our best to squeeze out the last of summer…