I began to get bored waiting for my boat to come out of surgery so I thought I'd head down to see bubba fishin' the Fairfax Falls.
Of course I didn't want to stick out like a sore thumb, so I carried down a rod and a 5 gallon bucket. Bubba was all over the place, 3 bubbas here, a couple more there, and the other side was loaded with 'em.
Over on the other side, I watched a warden checking all the "fisherman". One left with the warden to collect his prize at the wardens truck. "Way to go Bubba" I wanted to Yell! "Proud of ya!!"

I hadn't been there in years and nothin' had changed. I looked at the spot I had visited in the past and nobody had laid claim to it. I knew right off I'd start drawing attention cause there's no way I can be there and not catch a freshly released, untanked, trophy dumped brown.

Sure 'nough, 15 minutes later my rod was bowed over, line peeling. I looked down the bank to see cigarettes rolling down the bellies of at least two bubbas, chins caving in their adams apples, and eyes all buggered out.
"Oh shit" I think to myself as one jumps up and comes running at me.
This guy is coming as hard and fast as he can, stumbling over drift wood and big rocks, his cap comes flying off, a pack of smokes flies out of his shirt pocket. "HERE, HERE, I'LL HELP YA" he yells and thrusts out a net big enough to put a yellow-fin tuna in.

"Sit down, just sit down before you fall in" I say as I begin reeling in the fish. I gain some, the fish takes some, I gain more and soon it's up near the bank. "Holy crap" he says, "why looky there". I ease down and gently slide the fish on the gravel, a beautiful freshly stocked Brown, "pretty close to four pounds I say" "I ain't never seen one-a them" says Bubba, "I'm from Swanton, we ain't got no trout where I live". I then grabbed for my phone, "you got a camera on that?" says bubba, "yuppers".

Just as I'm about to capture a "digital brown" it flops, the hook flies out and the fish is off...hoping to never be caught again.

Bubba never moved...he motioned for this "brothers" to get his stuff and get over there.

I experienced combat fishing for about 10 minutes with these characters. They studied my every move and imitated it the best they could. We crossed lines, smiled (most of us just used our gums), raved about the big fish, and I smelled their sweat.
I decided I'd had enough, I experienced what I thought I would, and the warden was headed our way. He checked me first and I gave him my report...two fish in less than an hour: one released and the other waved goodbye before I got it to the shore.

Bubba, bubba, and bubba huddled around the warden. Pieces of paper, match-books, and who knows what else, falling out of their wallets. As I walked away, and was almost out of range to hear what was being said, I heard the warden say "do you got anything newer than '09?"
"Huh?" and a grunt was all I heard as a reply.

I called my boat mechanic...parts had arrived and he was working on it as we spoke.
Good news.
Good news indeed.

Fish on, fish H8 me.

1 comment:

pikepicker said...

Razz...I HATE that hell hole. I can relate to your story many many moons ago. Jonnies all over the place screamin they got a native brown on their lines.....it does my head head , wish the Lamoille would swallow them up like a flushed toilet.....