The Pond
Picking blackberries on my walk uphill, I came to the secret pond, the kind that everyone should have and never talk about– except as poetry. I loaded the short fly rod with a line, a leader, and an artificial fly. The fly, a poor imitation of what could have been the first pattern tied for trout (by Greeks in the days of Roman emperors) seemed to cross the ocean as it headed toward the reeds.
Surrounded by woods at my secret pond, I felt like a mongrel of an angler… Partly pragmatic, partly poetic, and partly … nuts! Like anyone off the track and traveling. Excited, but for what– a possible sunfish, maybe a bass? Like any mixed-up soul who’s got an eye for science and a nose for nature’s mystery.
I caught a red-eared sunfish, that was it. Perhaps no one else was home. That sunfish must have sensed adventure– pulled in like a visitor from an asteroid in Saint-Exupery’s “The Little Prince.” Frozen for a moment, cradled in my hand. And there it went– still inside its body– with a word of warning for the bream among the reeds.
The Lake
Normally I fish the streams and rivers but I took a fly rod to the lake. The reservoir is unusual for the state– cold and deep, with trout and other species. I don’t like the fact that a dam has compromised a valley and a wonderful stream for trout, but the reservoir is aged, and trout can be caught from shore.
I could have used some practical advice on how to fish this lake, or perhaps prepared myself to give some practical advice to others planning a visit, but it was quiet here. The trout had gone to the depths. A Woolly Bugger cast 50 feet from the woods picked up a bass and a sunnie or two.
Preparing to leave, I put away the flies. A splash came from the surface near the dam. A second splash had me digging for a popper with rubber legs. Science and poetry mated
like dragonflies above the lake, and sunfish slammed the popper.
The Ocean
It all ends here, eventually, where everything begins. The place where our breathing goes. In water that was here before. In water that stays long after.
Rivertop Rambles 
Just beautiful, Walt.
Thank you, Mike. Am glad to have you as a reader.
Nice, Walt. Great pics too – esp. like the lake photo, land, water, and sky all in close proximity. A meeting of elements.
Bob, that “meeting of elements” there was serendipity on my part, although I’d say that’s the “theme” to this little post, as well. Thanks for the recognition.
Sounds like a great day with a local adventure. When you’re down my way I’ll show you a couple of relatively hidden gems that offer eager bass and bream.
Leigh, those local adventures can be like widening rings across the surface of a pond or lake, and travel far. Yes, when I get over your way, I’ll be up for new adventures. Thanks!
I miss the little red efts crawling around near the marshy areas in the back yard. Is that Lyman Lake by any chance?
It’s been a while since I’ve seen the efts around the yard, but yeah that’s Lyman, alright. Have a happy holiday, for what’s it worth!
Beautiful – love the meeting of water,sky, and trees. Such harmony.
Thanks Mary! Sometimes it’s good to find a bit of natural harmony in the midst of wordly chaos.
That’s one of my favorite flies. I’ve caught some large panfish and bass on it.
I’m glad I thought to use that popper, Kevin. Generally I don’t fish the ponds and lakes so I tend not to think of old rubberlegs, or whatever it’s called, but it surely seemed effective with the bluegills. It was fun to cast.
Walt
I am really impressed with waters like this especially since it has trout. It gives you the best of both species; did I notice a Boogle Bug as your popper? Thanks for sharing
Ah yes, that’s a Boogle Bug. I can’t remember where or how I got a couple of them, but the darn thing is effective on summer bass and sunfish. As for the water, it does have year-around trout fishing, which is especially good in spring and fall. And thanks, as always, for reading and responding!
Nice.
That little spotted fellow is to be adored.
Alan, the little spotted newt got nervous when I stopped to take a closer look. I told him to take it easy, all I wanted was a photograph. I think he mumbled something about “damn tourists” as he scuttled from the path.
“damn tourists” love it.