Not every trip is epic and while it’s easy to say about any trip and or float that it sure beats working, seldom is it expressed by how much it actually does beat out a day at the office. There is no applause meter or cheesy magazine quiz (10 question to know if your trip was fun) to determine that. Add in the fact that each participant, like witnesses to a crime, are likely to have a very different description of the perpetrator of said crime and we arrive at the conclusion that there is no scale to weigh the results of any trip. Right?
Nay, nay I say to you fishers, floaters and lovers of all things wild and untamed. There is one measure of the trip, “The Law of Fishing Trip Relativity”. This law states that the worse the trip is, the longer the story of the trip will be told. Most of us know this already as we have undoubtedly heard the telling of at least one bad trip many many times by now and have little doubt that we’ve not heard the last telling as of yet.
Mathematically this is expressed as:
The number of days since the actual event (AE) (Today – Date of AE)
divided by the number of alcoholic beverages consumed by the teller (Number of Beers/shots)
multiplied by the number of generations between the teller and the actual participates on the event (Generation Span) equals X.
X being a number between 0 and infinite with zero being a day at the office. The scale has to be infinite as there is always someone with a better story and a really bad trip will continue to score higher as time passes as long as the story is still being recounted. The larger the number the worse the trip was so the best possible trip is a score of one. Which has only been achieved once by a Minnesota man who told his fishing story to his neighbor the very next morning then promptly died of a massive heart attack. No alcohol was being consumed and the neighbor was so overwhelmed by the death of his friend that he was never able to retell his friends story. Some years later the neighbor passes away and so the story of the greatest trip ever has been lost for all of eternity. Which of course is exactly as it had to be or it would no longer be the greatest trip ever by now. That’s the way it is, great trips are for the most part forgotten, but a really bad trip can live on around the campfires for generations. It should also be said that trip stories told to your spouse are automatically disqualified from rating as most spouses seldom actually listen to the other and certainly they do not retell the stories unless they are using the event as an example of how stupid their spouse is to friend.
So with that being said I’ll tell you the story of my last fishing trip on the James River.
We woke up early to a light rain, a drizzle actually, and made our way out the door and to the first glowing sign that promised hot coffee and little Debbie chocolate covered mini donuts. Terry and I sat out in his driveway a good portion of the previous evening and only finished two more beers each after last one was called, I think anyway. The coffee was good and I ate the entire pack of Donuts before arriving at Don’s house some ten minutes later. I noticed the rain, drizzle really had stopped as I parked to load up Don’s canoe and it seemed only fair that we’d take Don with us since we were loading his canoe up, especially since Terry and I already had our kayaks with us. Don proclaimed we were early, Terry and I thought we were late so we all agreed that we were right on schedule and soon we were headed down the road towards Clever to make a stop for Don and I grabbed a slice of breakfast pizza since I had no real idea of when I might have the opportunity to eat again.
We made it to the in in good time and shuttled my truck down to the out all the while leaving Don to watch over the boats. The rain, drizzle really, was on and off during the drive time but we made it back without incident.
A few minutes of arranging gear, putting fly rods together and tying on what you hoped would be the only fly needed for the entire day, all the while knowing, probably not though, we pushed away from the boat ramp and headed down stream. My head feeling a lot better by now and the rain, drizzle really, was back on but not for long as it turned out.
The sky was gray as far as I could see in all directions, overcast usually good for the bite but the water was way too warm, very low and the color of something that you might find on a street someplace, hopefully before you stepped in it. The smell wasn’t to good either and being in it kind of gave you the feeling that you needed to get a shower as soon as possible.
I had rigged two rods a 7wt. with sinking line and a SBF pattern tied to the working end of the line and a 6wt. with a Diablo Hopper hoping to take a few more Smallmouth out of the water for a picture with a top water pattern hanging out of their mouth. But by the time we got to the first big pool I was beginning to think that the warm nasty water wasn’t exactly a Smallie’s dream location. But I did finally manage a few Blue Gill and a small large mouth bass before paddling down to a new location.
I threw the SBF pattern when the water seemed to warrant its use but never had so much as a single tap that made me think for even a second that I had missed a strike. I do know I missed a couple of larger fish on the Diablo but I can’t say and I even doubt that they were Smallmouth.
Eventually the gray clouds did part a little, allowing some sun to sneak through, but for the most part the first half of the trip was gray sky and poor catching.
I think it was Don to finally catch the first Smallie on a Rooster tail I believe. We didn’t know it at the time but I know now that first smallmouth catch happened in the best section we would see on the entire trip. He also caught a few Goggle Eye and at least one other smallmouth. At the end of that same pool I managed my first and only smallmouth of the trip followed by the largest fish of the trip another largemouth. Terry was still not on the board, sorry man!
It was close to one when the gray clouds parted enough to allow the sun to sneak trough for more than just a minute or two. By two the sun was winning out, the gray clouds pretty much gone and temperature climbed rapidly. Usually about this time you could dunk your hat or throw some water on your face to cool off but neither of these options was I willing to do with this water. I was already mildly worried about growing an extra toe or something.
For the past few hours the water had grown thin to the point of the yaks dragging or having all of an extra inch between the angle rock bottom and the bottom of our boats. The color had turned even more brownish and a faint smell between something dead and piss. In fact, earlier I came across a dead deer mid stream, it hadn’t been there long.
Still I was able to spend a day with a couple of good friends and none of us died. Whether any of us will end up with an extra toe is yet to be determined.
A good trip, a bad trip…. who’s to say really. In the end it’s all about how you look at it. I think this trip scored an easy 5,
that is if everyone will just shut-up about it!
Fair Winds and Following Seas!
