Here I am in Texas, in the month of June. At a time when Green Drakes and pale Evening Duns are hatching on the Catskill rivers, this is no time for a fly fisher to be in Texas. Then why am I here? First off, my oldest Texas grandson, Matthew Buchanan Brown, graduated from the Westlake Academy high school on June 1. Secondly, my best fishing partner, Barbara Ann, has been battling Chronic Myeloid Leukemia for the past five years and this has taken a sudden turn for the worst. Her oncologist wants her to be nearby until he can bring her leukemia back under control.
This may take a while. Pam Reinhardt called this morning to give us the good news that our upstream neighbors, Tom Brown and Chuck Matakitis, have mowed the lawn at the cabin. I had feared I would find it a hayfield when we were able to return. I’ll buy the beer.
The heat and bright sunshine down here tends to kill any desire to fish during the day. However, the kind fellows from the Dallas Fly Fishers introduced me to a small pond only 25 minutes from our house. Barb and I have enjoyed good sport fishing in this tiny body of water. I visited it twice this past winter, but found it too discolored to fish. Local construction seemed to be the cause of the pond being off color.
After a brief visit to the local Bass Pro Shop this past Sunday, I decided to drive by this spot. Eureka! Construction had ceased and the water was clear. The only bad news was that the aerator was still turned off. I walked down to the edge of the pond with my polaroid glasses and was able to observe several sunfish and five 10- or 11-inch largemouth bass.
My Texas pals would not understand the name “sunfish.” Down here they are referred to as either “brim” or “perch.” A transplanted Yankee sometimes forgets how to speak the Texas language. If the thunderstorms stay away, a visit to this pond after dinner could be productive.
My two-weight rod should be the perfect tool to use in order to educate a few of these fish. They need to learn that careless dining could be dangerous to their health. This would be a good way to direct my mind form Barb’s troubles.
Once upon a time, the town of Trophy Club had a small pond located behind the community swimming pool. It contained a good population of brim and largemouth bass. Since it was so close to home, I spend many an hour there.
The habitat was good enough for the bass to reproduce. There were often tiny bass finding shelter from the big boys in the weeds at the edge of the pond.
Unfortunately, the town built a far larger pool complex on the other side of town. Once this was accomplished, the old pool and its buildings were destroyed and the little pond was filled in.
One October when we returned to Trophy Club, I could not find so much as a damp spot on the ground where the little pond had been. This was one of those times when I fervently wished that the bulldozer had never been invented.