Whirling on the Water

Have meant to stop by Shannon's Fly Shop in Califon for a couple months. Placed a call last week, to be sure they had summer issues of The Drake, but my short essay on Salmon River steelhead fishing isn't appearing as yet. Sixty-three degrees posted as the water temperature at the bridge this morning, I asked about trout fishing. "There's a lot of fish in the river." People have been doing well. I was told it's been down to 50 there recent nights. I bought a couple of RS-2 size 20's. A Rainbow Warrior in stock wasn't the "neon bug" as I referred to Jesse's home-tied beauty. I'll await one just as good before I buy.

Finding a parking spot before I made the purchase, I noticed Rambo's Country Store, Choice Meats, and went in to have a peek at the selection. Since my job involves specialty meats, I felt the interest. Ever since I was three-years-old, when first I enjoyed lobster bisque, I've been interested in seafood. I was in the seafood business for 13 years as a commercial shellfisherman. I've never understood red meat as I do seafood, and I still don't. Nor will I ever understand red meat, not so as compared to this knowledge of seafood, which seems to have an uncanny inborn quality. My pitch to those who interviewed me for the job placed employment in seafood as best desired, and at least what they could offer me does involve some work in the seafood department. On up Califon's Main Street a short distance, a frame shop and impressive art works in the window arrangement. Of course, any of my regular readers has some understanding of me and art. This includes painting and drawing, though I've done little of either during the last two decades, and most of my drawing and painting I did as a 10-year-old not satisfied in the quality.

When Mike and I first fished Califon stretches in April, I wondered about smallmouth bass. Later, their presence in the river here was confirmed on Facebook. Today I parked above the dam in town, but found only one spot not marked private. Very shallow water not worth plying. I drove to Mike's favorite spot, found it shallower than seemed before at higher level, but worth casts. Something picked up my Senko-style worm that didn't feel like a sunfish. Here at this spot, I took some 20 minutes closely observing what I thought juvenile water striders at first. Bugs familiar to me, these tiny black whirling racers (not whirligig beetles). I've never before got on my knees and looked closely. I braced my shoulder by my left arm against the rock photographed bottom-most The insects seemed to propel about on the surface film by wings, but though I tried to make these "wings" out--my eyes are not 20/20 as during my youth--it seemed as though, no, it's amazingly in the legs and feet, if you want to call them feet.

At the municipal park, I wondered if driving to Neshanic a good idea, but today the thought of making that arduous hike upstream felt onerous, as did the upstream march to productive water above Three Bridges. Dart's Mill is easy. But the drive a long way south. I fished long enough to regain habitual ability to cast where I need a worm to go, but needed to get back to my car to check my messages, flip phone left in car. The usual Honda's in the shop. Shortly before 5:00 I placed a call for update.

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