Tree Sitting In A Swamp

A bed is always more comfortable a few hours before daylight. This is a hunter's dilemma, but for said hunter to succeed, he must give up; that comfort and venture forth.  

What makes a grown man with more than half a century of time walking the earth, leave the comfort of bed and hearth in the pre-dawn hours to go and sit in a tree? My guess is if you don'/t know this answer, it will be near impossible to explain it to you. I will at this time, try my best to offer somewhat of an explanation.

I will tell you this, there is nothing like being in a stand or blind and watching the world wake up. The late, great Old Duck Hunter, Gordon MacQuarrie put it this way "No sport calling for communion with the dawn can escape a certain air of romantic mystery." Most people who do not hunt or fish, will never experience this,

This morning being opening day of archery season, I trudged to a near by stand to watch the awakening of the world, and to have the opportunity to try out a new cross bow on something other than a foam target. Cool and comfortable, I settled into my seat and readied an arrow. It is always magical right at dawn, the sights and sounds consume you. The first miracles of dawn that I got to witness this morning was a flight, of historical proportions, of newly hatched mosquitoes. They came in hard and fast, and some were so large that I swear, they had USN painted on their sides. They tried to over power and remove my therm cell. Luckily they failed, but this was really something to see. All the while lightness continued to over take darkness, as the day began, and the woods came to life. Birds were moving about through the limbs, and a noisy squirrel seemed to think I had taken his perch. It was at this point I was visited by a pestilence of the deep south known as love bugs, thus named because they spend their lives physically attached to their mates. Therma cells obviously have no effect on love bugs.

With the good earth now fully awakened and the temperature rising, this quickly led to the end of my morning hunt. My arrow found no venison today, but the season has begun and I was thankful to be there for the kick off. Was it worth it? You bet it was, it is a season of new beginnings and new promises, new hopes, and chances to replenish our food stores with meat straight from the bounty of nature.

Fred Bear, renowned archer, and hunter may have said it best about tree sitting: "When a hunter is in a tree stand with high moral values and with the proper hunting ethics and richer for the experience, that hunter is, 20 feet closer to God.

Old Captain sends  

In Chubby's Church

I present one of my newest friends. I have named him, or her as the case may be, Chubby. Chubby lives in crystal clear water in an undisclosed southeast Georgia lake. Chubby and his, or her brethren call out to the fly fisherman in me.

Tom Brokaw once said "If fishing is a religion, then fly fishing is high church". I'm not sure if fishing is a religion or not. I do know that fishing provides me with plenty of religious experiences, but I digress, because this is about the church of Chubby.

Fly fishing may be more of a disease, or sickness than a religion. It can almost posses me, and in ways it carries me back to my beginnings catching small fish on a cane pole from Carole creek which ran through my Grandfather's pasture, and from the muddy winding Sweetwater creek which Carole creek emptied into. That may be were I started giving fish names, because I would catch and release them over and over. So, this week when the opportunity arose to do a little fly tossing for bass in the crystal clear water, I named my newest nemesis, or friend Chubby, because he/she was the big fish in the pond.

Throwing the smallest, lightest lines and fly I could still spooked the fish, so I had to resort to making a cast and allowing the water to settle then start the slow dance of the fly to entice the prey. This prove to work somewhat well, and it was the only game in town. I caught numerous panfish and a few small bass, but Chubby just refused to play.

Now while I might have you thinking, oh no, another story about the one that got away, let me just say that is not the Old Captains intent. I prefer to think of it in another light, any day you get to fish is a blessing, and to be able to share that with someone else, and even to relate the story at a later date, proves nothing escapes from memory. Some people fish their entire life and think that fishing is only about catching fish, and I will admit that, that is an important part, but only a true fisherman will understand the surrounding beauty and peace that comes from time on the waters.

Old Ernie Hemingway said, " having someone at your back while you fish, is as bad as having someone look over your shoulder while you write a letter to your girl". I think having the right companion to share the experience with makes it all the better, and in the case of the battle of wits with Chubby, there was a witness, so I also have temper the embellishment of the adventure.

In closing I will tell you it was a great time and a great blessing to spend time in Chubby's church, where I learned even more the lessons of the humility of fly fishing. Thanks for the lessons and the blessings.

THE END

Old Captain Sends.