From time to time, Mother Nature and the animals that we purse pull fast ones on us. Sometimes she likes to prove her dominance by completely ruining a deer hunt with gale force winds. At other times, she brings in a blanket of snow to make the camouflage of a coyote completely ineffective. Still yet, it could be monster catfish biting anything that moved as a storm front rolls in. It could even be a rainbow trout feeding frenzy as Lake Taneycomo
Busch, Woody, my buddy Dobber, and I were deer hunting on opening weekend for the second straight year together. It was opening day and we hadn’t had any luck in our pursuits. As we ended our morning hunt and assembled strategies for the evening, we found some time on our hands. We didn’t want to walk stretches of timber all day just to spook all of the game and get a marginal shot at best.
After some debate, I finally talked the guys into going to a small farm pond about 15 miles away. I had told them about how my dad and I had caught some really nice bass out of the pond a few weeks prior to deer season. The temperature and overall conditions hadn’t changed much in the last few weeks and I thought they might still be biting. Reluctantly, they agreed. Maybe they did it to appease me, or maybe they did it out of boredom.
When we arrived, my excitement and enthusiasm was peaking. I think it was common knowledge that my biggest passion lay in fishing. I loved hunting, don’t get me wrong, but I was a much better fisherman than hunter. I think my friends would attest to this fact, and at this particular moment, I felt confident. This was the polar opposite of how I felt about my whitetail pursuits.
As we exited the truck, I started throwing out tactics and what worked last time. “Use a spinner bait over there. You can wade into the water a little right here. If you hook a fish here, you’re going to have to hoist it over a barb wire fence. See that tree over there. If you cast under it, there is probably a big bass sitting under it.” All of this information seemed to fall on deaf ears.
“My dad and I caught some real monsters last time were here. We didn’t catch any six pounders, but we each caught a five. We didn’t catch one single small one, I swear. They are big, mad, and hungry. They fight like hell and don’t let the small size of this pond fool you. They’re here, I promise.” Again, no response.
As I looked up from tying on lures and preparing rods, I noticed they weren’t really listening to me. They were engaged in a conversation about deer, or beer, or both. The fact was, that they sure weren’t talking about fishing. Not only did they not care, but they weren’t even planning on fishing! When I asked who wanted a rod, not a single offer was accepted. I couldn’t believe it! For just a second, I felt terrible.
As the host, I felt like I was wasting these guys’ time. I had brought them 15 miles from our hunting spots to a place they didn’t want to be. I was asking them to do something, they didn’t want to do. I felt selfish, guilty, and disillusioned. Heck, I thought about not fishing too.
After a moment, I gained my composure and confidence. I decided that I was at least going to show them that there were fish in the pond. We didn’t drive out of our way for nothing, and if we turned around and left without even trying, then this entire idea would have been pointless. My self-centeredness even kicked in and I simply wanted to do something that I enjoyed after being disappointed from the hunting we experienced earlier that morning.
Awkwardly, I grabbed a rod and some tackle. I headed toward the pond where a small creek fed in, and offered rods and tackle to everyone one last time. With a collective and resounding dismissal, I headed off by myself. I wouldn’t be alone for long.
No comments:
Post a Comment