“I went to the woods because I wished to live deliberately, to front only the essential facts of life, and see if I could not learn what it had to teach, and not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived."
Sadly in our modern life we are confronted at every turn by complication laid thick upon complication. Not the good kinds of complication like learning a rivers web of life or what paths a buck takes thru the woods or the mysteries of a woman's heart. No, instead we get vile complications of mortgages, too many hours spent at work, the mendacity on man, paying Peter, Paul and the electric company and on and on. Sometimes to keep sane you must yell enough is enough like a madman and just leave it all for a while. Find a quiet tree to nap against, a brook to listen to, a sunrise to watch.
This week I fought back with an empty discarded mountain dew bottle. Around the bottles neck I tied the end of a hundred feet of thirty pound monofilament. I then wound the line around the body of the bottle and slid on a half ounce egg sinker. I then tied on a swivel and a short leader and hook. Grabbing a zip lock baggie full of frozen cut bait I headed for the river.
Well actually to work then the river. Which was perfect as while I worked it rained the proverbial cats and dogs. And then quit thirty minutes before my shift was over at 1230 am. A half moon slid in and out of the clouds of a clearing sky. Patches of stars began to show. A beaver slapped his tail across the pool in alarm as I reached my chosen spot on the river.
I hooked on a piece of bait and twirled the bait like I'd seen those natives do with their handlines on shows like river monsters and let fly. Okay this was harder than it looked. A few more awkward tries and I managed to sling the thing a couple dozen feet out into the pool.
Which it turned out was all I needed. The rain had breathed new life into a river oppressed by late summer heat. I'd no sooner nestled myself down among the rocks, leaning back against an old log, when I felt a tap tap. Say what you want about the latest high modulus space age rods but nothing will bring you that feeling of direct connection that having the line in your hands will. The line came taut and began to play out thru my fingers. I let it run a second or two then struck.
Things are different on a hand line. Not really what you would expect. Not the sport of screaming drags or long runs. Instead more the thrashing of a fish getting you wet as it struggles at your feet. But the fish either pulls off or otherwise frees itself or you land it. Actually it seemed a bit less sporty than on a rod and reel! I think I'd rather tackle a really big fish on a heavy hand line than your average fishing rod if I absolutely had to land it. I gained a new respect for those natives in South America or Africa, you absolutely could fish quite effectively.
Soon after another dandy channel was landed, then another, then a bigger one. This one measured out somewhere around the 26/27 inch mark. Hard to get an exact measurement as with the hand line you can land even a good sized fish while it still has plenty of life in it to flop and fight when in hand. Getting the hook out can be a challenge of it's own.
And on it went all night. By daylight I'd landed eight or nine fish all on the hand line. Covered in catfish slime, fish guts and soaking wet I headed back towards the rat race of life renewed...
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