I worked my job yesterday, and I found constantly being on my feet put enough stress on the back for pain to accumulate. (I was hospitalized recently for spinal stenosis. It caused severe back pain.) I got control of pain and uncertainty near the end of my shift, when confidence grew and eliminated fear; I soon drove home confident that today's fishing would work out.
I met Mark in the lot by the river, moments after I'd got my wading boots on. Seeing him again, it was as if weeks had passed, rather than more than a year. We walked the trail downstream doing our best to catch up on our lives, deciding to start fishing upstream of how far down we went last year. I made my way back upstream at a swift pace, because I wasn't finding holes nor the wide, long slow stretch I fished early July last year, then losing a very big bass on a Rapala #5 floater. There were no spots like that. The water was a series of rapids, and I managed to find three big boulders and associated rocks creating pocket eddies. These spots looked promising for smallmouths, but I pulled a longear sunfish from each of them, using an eighth-ounce jig with a little green paddletail.
Soon I was back at my car, having found I left the driver's side window open. I called Mark. He was well downstream. No bass. Some sunnies and chubs. I found the wide slower stretch I had missed, where I caught more sunfish, including a bluegill, and a couple of very small bass. Using the Rapala #5.
I slowed down. The temptation is to fish fast and move on, as if any bass present would hit on the first cast. That's not necessarily true. It's also the case that by slowing down, you better absorb surroundings and take notice of things you wouldn't have by a cursory once-over. That will not only clue you into fish; it will qualify your experience, making you feel better and improving your health. My wading became more certain. I had been afraid that uneven rocks might kick my back out again, but once I became sure of my experience, I realized my worries were absurd. When I'm 80 I might be challenged on uneven rocks in a river, but for now my steps remain sure.
I paid careful attention to the bank across from me. Repeatedly, fish hit my Rapala just after it touched down near the edge, and I wasn't so sure they were all sunnies. I would cast there, then cast elsewhere to give the bank a break. Finally, I laid a cast inches from the bank where the Rapala got whalloped. The drag screeched for a moment, and then the bass was gone.
Later, I told Mark it might have been 11 or 12 inches. He showed me the photo of his big one. I felt amazed we had got one that big. Last year we lost two that were even bigger, but to have encountered yet another nice bass in these stretches I guess I hadn't expected. I watched him catch another of about nine inches. I caught more sunfish, a fallfish, and another very small bass. We had worked our way further downstream than we fished last year, by what I could judge. Another rather slow, wide, and long stretch.
When quitting time approached, I got out of the river and relaxed by sitting on a boulder. Mark got into position relative to the far bank where he hooked his big one. He began pulling some sunfish out and the nice rock bass I photographed.
"There's a hole right there in the middle of the concrete where it's broken-in. The fish are staging in it.," Mark said.
He also told me he was about to go, so I decided I'd offer a last try. A couple of minutes before we slogged out, I stood next to him when I hooked and caught an average stream bass of about nine inches on the Rapala, me just laughing out loud because I had been feeling that I had come up short. No bass even close to average size until the last minutes.
As we walked the trail back to the cars, clouds overhead had closed out sunlight, and both of us spoke of feeling the difference in atmospheric pressure. Mark mentioned it wasn't humid, and I readily agreed, but each of us felt rain coming. The last moment before each of us slipped into our vehicles, thunder boomed overhead.
Big Rock Bass