Ah, the Smell of Salmon Eggs, the Crack of Monofilament and Roar of Nearby Lightning, and a Hearty Hi Yo Crank Bait!

Is it just me, or has the weather this year seemed particularly Hades induced. Particularly for us fishermen. I should have known, when spring finally arrived, well, as near as anything that passes for spring in Northeast Ohio, that it could be a bumpy ride this season. And as for the fishing, well, throwing your line into the any northeast Ohio river so far this year has been about as much fun as tying one end of a rope around your waste and the other around the bumper of a '70 Super Bee.

In light of the weather and by weather, I mean Noahesque, and the resulting white water rafting state of the rivers in the area, I decided to look for some calmer waters and tried a couple of parks and a marina in Mentor which have sheltered areas. The marina was a huge mistake. I chose that area because I read an article last year by the resident "sportsman" reporter in the local paper that said the smallmouth in the marina were absolute "crank bait sluts!" Well, in my experience the fish were more like nuns. The only way I could catch any fish there was with a long net and dynamite! In fact, had I not witnessed the millions of other fisherman hauling in several fish each, I would have doubted that fish actually lived in this marina.

I've noticed before, these discrepencies in the reported "facts" of our local paper and the actual real life situations that exist on the planet Earth. They pertain not only to the news in general, which sometime appear to have been written by journalists under the influence of various edible psychedelic fungi, but to the mundane, slice of life articles which are generally heralded by front page, banner headlines like "LOCAL SCOUT TROOP ON VERGE OF MERIT BADGE CHAMPIONSHIP" while you can usually find articles squirreled away behind the obits section with headline something like "President Gravely Ill, Veep To Take Oath, World Economies on Brink of Collapse." Yawn. OK, I know I've strayed a tad from the point here, but on the other hand..., hmmm, senior moment!

One incident of note did occur at this marina when, braving another in a long succession of cold windy days I resolutely cast my lures upon the waters until the inevitable backlash occured and I started the three week process of trying to unravel the mess all the while teaching a new, four letter language to any children within 2 miles. As I fought with my useless rod and reel, a young man of about 20 - 25 years old came to the shoreline and set up what looked like his 89 cent rod and reel combo for toddlers, complete with bobber and politely asked how I had been doing. With every ounce of civility I could muster, I spat the word "NADA" through clenched teeth as I resigned myself to the loss of another 50 yards or so of fishing line.

Cheerfully the young man said to me "Well you never know. I caught a Northern Pike in this spot yesterday!" Of course, believing this man to be the local purveyor of crapolla I merely grunted a disinterested "That so?"

"Yeah," he went on merrily, "I couldn't believe it myself! Right where you're standing actually. Here I'll show you."

Having grown up in the days of telephone booths and party lines I had forgotten about the dreaded "technology" of cell phones which can do everything but let you make a phone call easily. Anyway, this guy whips out his cell phone like Wyatt Earp and waves the screen of his phone under my nose.
There, as little as life, my myopic eyeballs made out the image of the man and his Northern, holding it like a proud papa at the hospital with his newborn son. Confronted with this evidence, I realized that I had to put this young man on my "Most Despised List" list which includes LeBron James, Art Modell and congressmen.

"Very nice," I told him, "but if you will excuse me I haven't had my quota of snags, bird's nests and lost lures!"

Now, I don't generally wish ill of any but the aforementioned thugs, but I must admit that I did take genuine satisfaction as an hour passed and the young man's bobber floated unnibbled upon by any aquatic life whatsoever. Why should I have all the fun, eh? After the hour elapsed, this young man did display what I consider the enviable and utmost fishing acumen. He brought in his line, unhooked the shunned shiner, tossed it in the water, gathered up his gear and quietly slinked to his car, rod between his legs and left.

On the other hand, I refused to take the hint and continued to vainly cast my lures into the murky water, saying several "Hail Marys" between the expletives. After another hour of frustration and finally admitting defeat, I too packed my gear and headed for my car a beaten shell of a man. I swore to the Almighty, as I trudged to my vehicle that I would never fish there again.

then as I sat in the car and reached for the ignition with my keys, I remember thinking, "next time I'll use shiners!"

Love
Dad