Flying Fish

I was after the elusive and rare "Flying Fish" of Lake St. George this morning..

Unfortunately skunked again....

Swan Lake Bassin' With My Grandson

Sunday morning dawned bright and beautiful, a gorgeous day to get out and about with my grandson Dustin and his dad.
It's been a while since the three of us have gotten out to go smallmouth fishing, which is Dustin's fish of choice, plenty of action to keep a six year old's attention span. 

The water of Swan Lake was absolutely perfect as we left the boat launch with a slight mist hanging on before the morning sun would burn it off..

Heading up lake we passed the state park with it's empty beach , this is a wonderful spot to take a kid swimming, highly recommended..

After a liberal slathering of sun screen..

Dustin got in his first cast just up shore from the state park..

 Carefully moving in and out and around the shoreline rocks, per Dustin's instructions,  we came across a small "deck" as he called it, actually a tiny wooden float. He made THE call, "There's going to be a smallmouth under that deck Grandpa.." and instantly , as his rubber worm splashed down, it came out from under..

Having shown us how it was done, Dustin was stoked to reeling them in fast and furious, but it was not to be.
More navigation orders ensued and we moved on to the rock pile that last summer yielded a "monster" bass for Gary..

However , although Gary did catch one..

it would hardly be classified a monster.

The most unusual catch of the day, and one I have never seen before, happened as we were trolling over another rock pile which were somewhat deeper than the first. Dustin decided that the orange colored wobbler would do the trick and would get down to the rocks in good shape, which it did as he predicted.  It wasn't long before he shouted out that he had a bite.  What he caught was amazing , I have never seen it happen before...

a freshwater clam.
What were the chances of that?

Our fishing trip had to be cut short because of a birthday party that Dustin was attending.  On our way back to the launch, with the late morning sun shining in full force, we had a chance to reflect on our bassin' trip and how really precious times like this are.

Now if I can only get him to tie into one of those landlocked salmon that are lurking in the deep holes of the lake.

I'm working on it.....

An Apparition In The Mist…The HMS Bounty

Most harbors are quiet areas in the very early morning, especially when covered in a thick layer of fog. Belfast was such a place yesterday when Ray, my faithful boat dog, and I decided to check out the latest celebrity to grace our fair city of Belfast.

The HMS Bounty was in port for a few days and we decided that a visit was in order. As we turned down Main Street , which gently drops off into the inner harbor, even the tops of the tallest downtown buildings (all 3 stories of them), were enveloped in fog. But as we got closer to the public landing the ghostly, skeletal shapes of the masts and yards started to faintly appear. 

The fog made her look surreal, like a ghost ship quietly drifting on a flat calm ocean.

The stern with her name and those two great lanterns..

Midship..

 Her bow..

She would be leaving Belfast later on in the day, slipping into the fog, slowly dissolving..

an apparition in the mist.

Dog Days Of Summer Brook Fishing

I've been doing a bit of motivational reading of late, with the motivators being several fly fishing blogs written by fly fisherman who actually know how to fly fish. Not being one of them, (the knowing what you're doing part), I did however decide to forego a boating morning to get down the ultra-lite fly rod from it's summer resting place and have a go at some brook trout in a local spot.

After about a 25 minute hike in I came to the head of the brook in a dark area dappled by some sunlight underneath a canopy of evergreens. The small pool looked inviting and my first cast resulted in a slight hit on the fly.  Another cast , another hit but nothing more after that. Clearly whatever was there was not going to be fooled again.

Working my way down stream I had several more hits with one brought to hand. Finally reaching the end of the run I came across a small wooden bridge just before the brook dumped into a small pond. 

Underneath this bridge would surely be the perfect hiding spot for some wary brook trout. but after a good bit of, what seemed to me, to be perfectly reasonable invitations for my elusive prey to spring forth from it's lair, nothing...

But so it goes sometimes. 

Perhaps another time, in the cool of the autumn, I would have what I certainly needed most, better luck.

Oh yes, the only fish I brought to hand?

Not exactly what I was hoping for.....