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A willing participant in nature's order
By NEIL CLARRIDGE/Star-Tribune Sports
Wednesday, July 9, 2008 1:36 PM EDT
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Kenny Bray works on catching some bream. Kenny is the master of all things fishing.
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It had been so long since we had fished in the holler that we had to cut our way in to the pond. Fallen trees and overhanging branches would have blocked our way had Kenny Bray not suggested that we throw a saw in the back of the truck. Once there we wasted no time and began fishing.
This is the time of year when my brethren and I travel to the mountains to fish for trout. In order to save some money we decided to fly fish for bream in the farm ponds close to home. We also packed spinning gear to try our hand at the crappie.
Kenny is the master of all things fishing. When it comes to fly fishing, Kenny can put a fly wherever he wants it to go. He sees things that mere mortals can't see, he senses things that mortals can't sense, and he has a knack for putting his fly where a waiting fish will eat it.
We took the boat to the shaded side of the pond. As I tried the bank for bream, Kenny used his spinning gear to catch a few crappies holding under a log. Before long, a 13" crappie came to the boat. When the log played out, we eased along the bank for bream.
The bream came slowly. The black wooly worm pattern with the red tail and red hackle is a consistent producer so we stuck with it.
The fish hit better in the southeast corner of the pond. The four-weight Orvis rod made every fish feel like a behemoth.
We fished our way across the dam to the pipe and cleaned off the debris. When we un-clog the pipe, shell-cracker bream are attracted by the current that temporarily surrounds the pipe.
While we waited for the shellcrackers, we fished a floating limb that was partially submerged. Kenny grabbed the spinning rod and began extracting crappie from the pond. I joined in and caught several, too. When that played out, we went back to the pipe, but the shellcrackers were not there.
We hit the other side of the pond when the shade enveloped the holler. The fish came slowly before shutting completely off.
We loaded the boat on the truck with 28 fish in the cooler. We went up to see Henry and his family, but they weren't at home.
Once at home, we put the fish on ice. We find that if we leave them on ice for a day, they are easier to fillet. The chore took little time.
It was ordinary as fishing trips go and still there is wonder in every aspect of the experience.
Nothing brings a sense of belonging to my soul like participating in nature's order.
A shameless predator living in a shameful world, my only regret is that I don't hunt and fish more often.
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