On my way down to paint the boat yesterday I stopped at the stream. The water was clear and cold. I had about an hour to kill before I needed to meet my dad at the house so I decided to fish it.
This stream was no place for a 9 foot 5 weight but a man goes to war with the army he has. After becoming mired down in mud and snagging a branch or two, I began to get the hang of the creek. It was tough fishing. Space was at a premium. In time however, I was able to get my streamer to swing past the fishy undercuts and fallen timber. But were there any fish to be found? I watched wave after wave of herring, thousands of them, move up the creek in schools. I watched crabs scuttle along the sandy bottom. I even spooked a large black eel at one point. The small creek was alive with creatures of the sea. I felt like I should have been casting a clouser minnow rather than a small gray ghost.
Then, a strike. And an 11 inch salter was in hand. A beautiful gem from a tiny tidal stream.
Then another bite, this one much smaller than the first, but no less beautiful.
Gorgeous fish on a gorgeous morning. My allotted hour had expired, but now I have a new spot to play in that isn't far from home.