Swofford Idyll

Day 213: "The charm of fishing is that it is the pursuit of what is elusive but attainable, a perpetual series of occasions for hope." So wrote Scottish angler John Buchan, and thus it was that my 92-year old fishing partner, his two daughters and I spent the day with our lines in the tranquil waters of Swofford Pond, hoping. We hoped the morning away, hoped through lunch, hoped as the sun progressed across the sky and laid the shadow of a Douglas fir across our strip of shoreline and a soft breeze gave a faint briskness to the air. The girls fell to chatting with and at me, although my eyes never ventured far from the slight belly in my line as I hoped it would show evidence of tension. In a sudden interruption of a lopsided conversation, I leapt up to land a twelve-inch rainbow trout, hope rewarded. Somewhat later, I discovered a few bluegills hugging the shoreline and exercised them with my fly rod and a woolly bugger. Two came to land, and were quickly unhooked and released to panic their fellows into vacating the cove.

For all the hoping done by my companions, I am sorry to say that no other fish were lifted from Swofford Pond on this day. That brings me to another oft-heard aphorism of the sport and its devoted enthusiasts: "It's not about catching fish, it's about fishing." I'm cool with that.