It's Fishing, Not Catching

     Today I went to my local reservoir for a bit of trout fishing. The season started April 1st and I had yet to wet a line. I was quite excited and spent the entire workday fighting daydreams of the fresh air, wooded solitude, and the lunker I was sure to catch. As soon as the day ended I was out of the office faster than a squirrel running from a diving hawk. I readied my rod, checked my tackle, and stuffed my pockets with the necessary paperwork the great state of New York requires one to carry whilst enjoying his God given right to pluck a meal from the water.

     The body of water I chose as my destination today was my angling nemesis, The Rondout Reservoir. I fished this water many times last year and landed not a single trout. I have caught bass from here so I know there are indeed fish lurking below. This water is part of the New York City water supply system. These reservoirs are highly regulated, the big city wouldn't want their water supply tainted now would they. After all, this land was justifiably and fairly taken from upstate citizens to quench the thirst of an ever growing city below through eminent domain. The big city tells me what size boat I must use and where I must park it. Once the boat is put in at the reservoir (a DEP officer must oversee this) it may not be removed unless the owner would like to wait for another appointment for a cleaning and parking job. You may only propel the boat through human powered mean such as oars and rowing. Motors, even electric, are not permitted. Thanks to all of this I choose to fish this area from shore. Thus those deep trout are even harder to target.

     Attached to my line was a brand new, shiny silver and blue Krokodile lure. Surely this was the tool to change my luck. As I eased my way down the hill from the parking area above a new calm crept over me. Upon hearing the soft lapping of wind swept water against the smooth rocks lining the shore a smile crept over my face. At this moment I realized the red tape of the DEP did not matter. I understood the stresses of work were insignificant. I relished the solitude, breathed a sigh of relief, and cast my first line of the season. Finally the hobby and obsession I love had returned to me. For the next several months I will indeed walk many shoreline miles, cast many lures, and enjoy many sunsets.

     I reeled this lure slowly to give just the right action. I imagined the faux fish swimming below. I could see it moving just as a real bait fish might. I worked it through different depths. I varied the speed sometimes stopping it only to immediately begin the retrieve again. I did this many times as I walked along the shoreline covered in smooth sun bleached rocks. Each time I was sure my expert lure manipulation would land my prey.

     The sun began to set and I started the walk back to the parking area. I was without a trout but it did not matter. It's fishing, not catching. Besides, this was the best day to go fishing I could ever imagine. Truly, any day fishing is the best day for it. Along the way I noticed my surroundings more and more. Surely spring is on the way. The trees were starting to bud, the geese and ducks have returned, and a few insects of flight could be seen overhead. Up ahead just off the trail I spotted something rather unusual. Perched atop some long forgotten, washed up plywood was the skull of a young spike buck. I examined this decomposed skull for a bit and made my way home. Even better than the fish waiting for me below were two women waiting for me at home. My wife, young daughter, and a crock pot of pork and sauerkraut greeted me upon arrival.  This was a good day.