A Calm Along the River

 

A Calm Along the River 

9/29/2020

 

 The greens of summer, along the river and mountainside, are changing like magic into the bright colors of Autumn. Yellow, tan and red leaves start to cover the landscape from branchy hardwoods leaving the old reliable Hemlocks and fir trees to dot the land in their olive and green boughs. Acorns fall to Earth when hasty winds rattle the branches of the older Oak trees. Some fall upon the stony banks while others plop into the river water like the sounds of sugar cubes dropped into a cup of hot tea. Blankets of light grayish clouds move above like lazy smoke drifting with a breeze from chimney tops. Birds chirp here and there but it is the crows that loudly caw out like roosters on an early sunrise to bring in a new day.

 A drizzle of rain starts to fall from the sky like fine granules of powdered sugar sprinkled on top of buttered waffles. I cast my offering, from a fly line and tapered leader, into the lazy flowing river. Sometimes I cast a silver popper upon the water and strip it back with intermittent tugs imitating a dying bait fish struggling on the water surface. I’ll cast Woolly Buggers and let them drift or swing in the current like a night crawler or crayfish caught in the undercurrent. The line pulls away and I yank the rod upward. The rod tip arcs when the line tightens. A fish fights in the current as I play him to tire. My one hand tight around the cork grip and my other palms the spool to control the tension of the line. I wind in line on the spool as the fish swims up river. He pulls and fights the line below the surface with sharp tugs. I draw him to my net and lift the rod. The smallmouth splashes along the water surface till I scoop him up in my waiting net. I grin at the river smallie.

  After releasing him I take out a robusto stogie from my rain jacket and cup my hands to protect the flame from the oncoming breeze. Smoke travels with the breeze from the burning embers of the lit cigar.

 

 I wade and move slowly, in knee deep water, casting out into the river. I watch my line as the streamer swings. I switch to a popper hoping to bring a bass to the surface but it doesn’t happen. An hour or so goes by and I only have one small bass I can record as a catch.

  My stomach growls with hunger. I attach the hook to the hook keeper and make my way up the boulder strewn bank side to the road and then to the camper. The sun shines from over the mountain tops. Wet leaves glisten with the reflecting sun and scurry with the breeze. All’s quiet. there’s a calm in the air.

 ~doubletaper