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Hook, Line, and Nothing

By HUNTER REDFIELD – Student contributor

From the time I pulled out of the school parking lot, time moved like a snail. Every tick of the clock seemed to barely creep by, and as I sat and drank my afternoon coffee like an old man, excitement seemed to enter me with every sip.

It had seemed like years till the clock neared eight, and I went on what now would be a very common turkey roosting loop. Just as I had pulled back into the driveway, so did Jacob.

Soon all his gear was unloaded and the double elimination ping pong tournament we have every night before duck hunting or fishing was about begin.

Once the ping pong games were over, we prepared our rods and talked about our midnight PB and J runs, only to make one soon after to fix our lunch for the next day. Then we made our way back downstairs and eventually went to bed.

Soon after, the alarm went off and we slowly got up, preparing for what we hoped to be an exciting morning. We pulled out of the driveway and made our way to the stream, but when we pulled in, the conditions we were hoping for were not present and the water was crystal clear.

So we spent some time changing up our flies and then proceeded to walk down the bank and begin fishing. Almost immediately I saw a giant fish, and upon telling Jacob, it slowly moved upstream and out of casting distance.

This was a bit of a let down, but soon after another was spotted. When trying to use my indicator as a reference point to where the fish was holding, the indicator ducked, and I set the hook.

The fish raced upstream, taking a leap out of the water, and as soon as he was touching the water again, he began racing at me. I was unable to catch up with the line.

With that fish came an overwhelming disappointment and left us fishing longer, hoping that maybe we could hook another one, but we were unsuccessful.

So we took a walk downstream and came to what we were hoping was a hole that would produce many fish. Upon drifting through it multiple times, I turned and began to search downstream for more, and then I heard something.

It slowly became more evident that Jacob was screaming my name, and just as I was able to turn around, I saw his line shoot out of the water as another giant fish had been lost.

We talked about how bad our luck had been and fished longer before we decided to go upstream. Just before we arrived at the next hole, Jacob’s phone had rang and he answered it only to be cut short by the sighting of an absolutely giant fish.

We couldn’t believe our eyes as the fish laid in the hole, not a clue that we just wanted a picture with him, and we began casting, and after a few drifts, changed flies.

This process ensued for a while before one drift was a little too close and ended up snagging it, sending the fish rocketing upstream and leaving us without another chance at it.

So we went back upstream, and as we crossed the creek, Jacob spotted a trout rising, and upon walking upstream to try to catch the fish, many more were spotted laying in the flat and shallow section of the water, sending us to yet again change flies and begin casting.

We did this for a long time, and every once in a while, were rewarded with a fish that wanted to eat a dry fly. Soon I went a little farther upstream and began trying to catch the original fish I had lost.

However, many drifts resulted in nothing, and soon Jacob had asked if I wanted to switch spots. Within thirty seconds I heard “Oh my gosh!” as the fish had shattered our hearts again and left us wanting nothing more than the sandwiches we had made the night prior.

So we sat on a bench nearby and ate them before getting in the truck and changing spots. The very first hole we fished produced a pretty wild brown, and after going upstream, we had found more fish but nothing like the big ones we had lost earlier in the day.

A check of my phone gave us a small amount of time left to fish, and we walked back to the truck during the nicest part of the day and drove home, ending what had potential to be the best day of fishing either of us had in awhile.

 

Columnist Hunter Redfield is a student at Cranberry High School and a member of Cranberry Chronicles, the school’s journalism/publications group.

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