ledhead36
01-30-2009, 07:44 PM
Good Mornings
Getting Snagged on Solitude
Story by Capt. Harris P. Ashley ; photos by Jeff Suber
It's a feeling felt by few others. A hard to describe combination of anticipation, joy, serenity and oneness. Being on the water is the only place I can find solitude without feeling loneliness.
Don't get me wrong. Fishing with your buddies, or better yet your romantic partner, is absolutely wonderful. Things tend to be better when they are experienced with others that share your interests. However, there are those times when you need to simply disengage from the world and find your own private space.
After a week of dealing with an important family matter, and the pressures I sometimes feel with work, I just needed to be alone. As usual, and without the aid of an alarm clock, I awoke before the sun rose. My morning mantra began as usual: start the coffee pot, log on to the computer and pour over the numerous fishing reports, tide charts, and lunar charts. I hadn’t made a conscious decision to hit the water that morning, but when I didn't hear the wind chimes playing their usual melody, I just had to head out. My kayak was already loaded, both my fly rod and spinning rod were prepped, and I was in my standard uniform of Crocs, fishing shirt and quick dry shorts. All I had to do was grab a cup of joe and head out.
It took me only 10 minutes to get my yak in the water, my gear loaded, and my bow pointed due south. As I paddled beyond the launch point, I put my rudder to starboard and placed my paddle into its keeper. A slight balmy breeze blew from the north so I wouldn't need my paddle until I turned to head back. I drifted down the familiar shoreline pondering which fly to tie on and pausing to take a deep breath. The air was invigorating and the scent of the Laguna Madre filled my nostrils. It was a reassuringly familiar smell that always reminded me of being a kid fishing along the Laguna’s expansive shoreline. You wouldn't think the odour of saltwater, decomposing seaweed, and the watermelon/vomit smell of a nearby trout slick would be pleasant, but to me it was wonderful.
I tied on a small topwater and put the rod back in the holder, quietly contemplating all the sights and sounds of the morning. Dawn broke at last and I witnessed that magic moment when the sun’s rays first break the surface and the sky turns the color of a dying campfire at night. The only sound was the cacophony of gulls chattering and jostling on nearby Pita Island. Even though I was at least a quarter mile from Pita, it sounded as if the gulls were right next to me. On mornings like these even a casual conversation can be heard for great distance. From somewhere came the sound of an osprey screeching and heading out on its own morning fishing trip.
For an evanescent moment I didn't have a care or concern in the world – my problems temporarily forgotten. Laguna Madre translates to Mother Lagoon in English and I had been embraced by her, comforted by the song that she sang to me through the gulls, the osprey, the wind and the sound of water lapping at the hull of my kayak. At that moment I found solitude in its sweetest sense. It no longer mattered if I hooked into anything because I had already caught what I was out there for.
The sound of an approaching boat shattered my reverie and I realized that I had drifted nearly the entire length of shoreline I had intended to fish. The sun had climbed well above the horizon and I could feel its rays warming my skin. My pleasant trance ended and Mother Lagoon gently released me from her comforting embrace.
I put my rudder to port and retrieved my paddle out of its keeper. As I turned to paddle north back to the marina, I realized that I hadn't even made a cast. In the distance I could see the osprey heading towards shore, a wriggling mullet gripped firmly in its claws.
Oh well, at least he had a productive morning.
http://kayakanglermag.com/features/83-gone-soul-fishin.html
Getting Snagged on Solitude
Story by Capt. Harris P. Ashley ; photos by Jeff Suber
It's a feeling felt by few others. A hard to describe combination of anticipation, joy, serenity and oneness. Being on the water is the only place I can find solitude without feeling loneliness.
Don't get me wrong. Fishing with your buddies, or better yet your romantic partner, is absolutely wonderful. Things tend to be better when they are experienced with others that share your interests. However, there are those times when you need to simply disengage from the world and find your own private space.
After a week of dealing with an important family matter, and the pressures I sometimes feel with work, I just needed to be alone. As usual, and without the aid of an alarm clock, I awoke before the sun rose. My morning mantra began as usual: start the coffee pot, log on to the computer and pour over the numerous fishing reports, tide charts, and lunar charts. I hadn’t made a conscious decision to hit the water that morning, but when I didn't hear the wind chimes playing their usual melody, I just had to head out. My kayak was already loaded, both my fly rod and spinning rod were prepped, and I was in my standard uniform of Crocs, fishing shirt and quick dry shorts. All I had to do was grab a cup of joe and head out.
It took me only 10 minutes to get my yak in the water, my gear loaded, and my bow pointed due south. As I paddled beyond the launch point, I put my rudder to starboard and placed my paddle into its keeper. A slight balmy breeze blew from the north so I wouldn't need my paddle until I turned to head back. I drifted down the familiar shoreline pondering which fly to tie on and pausing to take a deep breath. The air was invigorating and the scent of the Laguna Madre filled my nostrils. It was a reassuringly familiar smell that always reminded me of being a kid fishing along the Laguna’s expansive shoreline. You wouldn't think the odour of saltwater, decomposing seaweed, and the watermelon/vomit smell of a nearby trout slick would be pleasant, but to me it was wonderful.
I tied on a small topwater and put the rod back in the holder, quietly contemplating all the sights and sounds of the morning. Dawn broke at last and I witnessed that magic moment when the sun’s rays first break the surface and the sky turns the color of a dying campfire at night. The only sound was the cacophony of gulls chattering and jostling on nearby Pita Island. Even though I was at least a quarter mile from Pita, it sounded as if the gulls were right next to me. On mornings like these even a casual conversation can be heard for great distance. From somewhere came the sound of an osprey screeching and heading out on its own morning fishing trip.
For an evanescent moment I didn't have a care or concern in the world – my problems temporarily forgotten. Laguna Madre translates to Mother Lagoon in English and I had been embraced by her, comforted by the song that she sang to me through the gulls, the osprey, the wind and the sound of water lapping at the hull of my kayak. At that moment I found solitude in its sweetest sense. It no longer mattered if I hooked into anything because I had already caught what I was out there for.
The sound of an approaching boat shattered my reverie and I realized that I had drifted nearly the entire length of shoreline I had intended to fish. The sun had climbed well above the horizon and I could feel its rays warming my skin. My pleasant trance ended and Mother Lagoon gently released me from her comforting embrace.
I put my rudder to port and retrieved my paddle out of its keeper. As I turned to paddle north back to the marina, I realized that I hadn't even made a cast. In the distance I could see the osprey heading towards shore, a wriggling mullet gripped firmly in its claws.
Oh well, at least he had a productive morning.
http://kayakanglermag.com/features/83-gone-soul-fishin.html