A Day Too Full To Improve

 A Day Too Full To Improve

"You can't catch a fish if you're not fishing," is my motto. My luck and skills haven't always matched up with the local waters where I guide. So far, work has kept me away from the water, and night fishing has yet to take off. After two hours, neither of us has received a single hit. At this point, my gut tells me it's time to go. It's about getting out when the rest of the world isn't and carving a path through the jungle of life to find a sliver of escape.

A day too full to fix with the weekend approaching, and I'm wrapping up a week of no sleep and stress avoidance. A good friend and I drove to the coast of southern Connecticut for a business meeting with the owner of a fly shop set up by a local guide/friend.

We finished our business as the windiest, wettest, and coldest rod casting demo of 06' took place, with fish stories and business talk wrapping up a new friendship with a group of guys.

Before anything happened, my travel companion and I followed a friend and guide a little north up the coast to a spot we were supposed to fish in the early morning on the right tide.

My will to start the day with good fishing was broken by a lack of sleep combined with a burnt out body from a crazy work week. As a result, I had to settle for the worst time and conditions the day could offer at this point near the river's mouth.

"You can't catch a fish if you're not fishing," is my motto. Sometimes you just can't catch a fish.

On water we'd never fished before. We began our mile walk to the end of this point near the mouth of the river, following instructions from my local friend and fish guru. We set out to fish southern Connecticut on a beautiful 40-degree, rainy, 30-plus-mph windy day. My luck and skills haven't always matched up with the local waters where I guide. 

So far, work has kept me away from the water, and night fishing has yet to take off. We charge ahead, unafraid of the warning that we are fishing at the wrong tide and will not catch any fish. "There are schoolies, we'll still get into some fish," we say. It wasn't as many as the morning bite, but there were fish nonetheless.

After 5 casts, my phone rings, and my local buddy asks, "Did you get any fish yet?" "No," he says, "I told you to wait until 6:30pm when the tide starts to change. It's already 3:30 p.m., and I have to be off the water at 6:00 p.m. As soon as I hang up the phone, there's a hit and a fish! The season's first Striper. It arrived much later than usual. Work has also kept me away from Martha's Vineyard, and I'm not scheduled to see a client until May.

There is light at the end of the tunnel. We will undoubtedly catch more fish. After two hours, neither of us has received a single hit.

Meanwhile, gulls are working their way out of this cove on the south side of the shore. They are a bittersweet reminder that the fish are there, but not near us, despite their inability to fly in the wind. At this point, my gut tells me it's time to go, not for food, but for the small still voice that says, "It's over, you're not getting any more fish." This voice has started many great fishing days and ended some bad ones.

Is this too much work for a single small fish? This is for a guy who spends most of his time at 2:00 a.m. throwing 16-inch eels to catch cow bass. I'm cold, tired, and exhausted. My friend's second year of fly fishing has been difficult. No steel was heard for him this winter, and he was skunked today. 

I look over, concerned that the joy of fishing may have faded from his face. All I see is a large, bright red, wind-beaten smile. "Would you like to go or keep fishing?" he asked. I have to leave because it's two and a half hours home and I still have to meet with this guy about a fly fishing thing.

It's not always about the catch or even the amount of time spent on the water. It's about getting out when the rest of the world isn't and carving a path through the jungle of life to find a sliver of escape. Stop, Listen to Your Passion, whether it's a one-hour or a twenty-hour hard core run; it's always worth it.