Out And About In A Boat

Day 190: Yesterday just wasn't a good day to go out in the kayak again. The forecast of "mostly sunny" didn't become an actuality until rather late in the day, and it never did really warm up. Today seemed to be starting out in the same manner, but once the sun got a toehold in the cloud cover, it successfully pushed the door open. I'd had a feeling that was going to be the case, so I'd put the kayak on the car and was just biding my time in anticipation of going out on the Tanager's first serious fishing expedition. Oh, I'd dabbled a bit last fall with no particular expectation of success, but today I meant business. I intended to catch at least one trout for dinner.

Like many fishermen, I harbour the belief that you'll find the best fish in spots no one else cares to explore. With that in mind, I headed to the north end of the lake where I'd crossed swords with a goose earlier in the week. Goose was patrolling and had widened his boundaries, but I got past him without incident thanks to a pair of ducks who diverted his attention long enough to let me pass. Throwing out a blue Roostertail, I got a strike immediately from a scrawny six-inch fingerling. Another twenty minutes of casting failed to draw a single bite, so I trolled a Wedding Ring as I paddled back to the boat launch at the south end, but unsuccessfully. In this desperate time, I was compelled to resort to a desperate measure. I pulled a couple of jars of PowerBait out of the trunk of the car.

At this point, let me say that I don't like to fish with bait. I am first and foremost a fly-fisherman, but over the years of fishing with my buddy, I've used lures when possible, but in the course of events, when we were together, bait seemed to be the standard. That said, PowerBait wasn't working either. I was on the verge of calling it a "good paddle day" and going home, but I decided to tie on a black Roostertail for the trip back to the launch. I hadn't gone a hundred yards when I had a hard strike.

Hatchery fish aren't much fun. They lack the spunk of native fish who have had to scrabble for their existence. This one came fairly easily to the net. On any other day, I might have let it go, but in wanting to be "one with the beautiful spirit of the trout" a la Greg Brown's song "Fishing With Bill," my mouth was set for beer-battered trout filets. The batter is maturing even as we speak.