River fishing at night, fishpot ford

It's at least a mile walk down to the ford. With eighty plus percent humidity, the walk was long enough to have me wading directly into the river just to cool off as soon as I got there. The water at first felt shockingly cold, much colder than it actually was.

In the heat I struggled to catch some bait to fish with but managed to catch a sunfish that was really just a bit too big. I slipped a two ounce sinker on the line and tied a big 5/0 hook on the twenty pound line of the big baitcaster. Right above the ford a long hole goes completely out of sight upriver. Here I cast the big sunfish and walked down to the riffle below to smallmouth fish. I caught a few small bass, ignoring the big rod thinking nothing would hit it till dark. Suddenly the clicker began to sing. Racing up the bar I set the hook just before something big reached a huge pile of logs piled up in the tail of the pool on the opposite bank. The rod bent double but the fish still took line. I tightened the drag to the breaking point but the fish pulled line right into the logjam. Into the river I went but it was no use. When I waded over I found the line went way back into a hole in the logjam. I could stick the whole length of the 7 1/2 foot rod into the hole but could not reach my tangled line. It was hopeless. Next time I'll bring heavier tackle.



Wading out again, I gathered wood for the night and then bass fished till dark after rebaiting the big rod. Here the river twist thru a giant s curve and forms two big islands and a maze of channels and underwater gravel bars.







In the heat the fishing was slow and I was concentrating hard. So hard that I failed to notice a rather pretty but plump lady in a kayak till she had floated right up to me. Both the kayak and her bathing suit seemed a size or two too small for her and I just stood there in the water speechless till she smiled and said "theres a beaver right behind you". Turning around, sure enough not twenty feet away was a beaver swimming lazily downstream. In a minute or two both floated away downriver and I climbed out and rigged up for the nights fishing. Off came the jig I'd been using for bass and on went a slip sinker a swivel and a treble hook for the shallow waters of the channels screamed big carp to me. The evening came hot and still. Even the usual din of insect noise seemed muted and no frogs greeted the coming night with calls. The moon began to rise right after dark, full and bright, more provolone than it's usual swiss cheese, but as the night wore on it became the color of really good muenster cheese, more orange than yellow. With the rising moon came the carp. The were skittish and after each one things had to settle down for a while between bites but it was steady all night.





In the distance a screech owl called, not its normal call but one of its stranger ones, more like a giant tree frog. If I hadn't heard this call on a tape before I'd never know what it was. Then quiet. Real quiet except for the occasional sound of the baitcaster's clicker as another carp took the bait....