Walk of Shame.

Gives You An Idea of the Water Quality.

I went for a run the other day down a highway by my apartment and discovered a small stream nearby. I stopped running and peered over into the slow dirty stream and saw a huge largemouth cruising down under the bridge. That was all I really needed to see and I anticipated heading back to catch some fish. Finally, a decent spot for some fun. A few days later I woke up at dawn and decided to walk down to the stream. The mile long walk along the highway wasn't too bad on the way there. I was pumped and amused by the looks on commuters faces as they passed by. Little did I know, but the walk back wouldn't be so fun.

Watch Your Step, or Risk Your Leg.

Someone Misplaced This.

As I bushwacked down under the bridge I hoped I wouldn't come across another homeless person, like my last excursion. Thankfully, I didn't and after a few moments my first cast produced. To my surprise, it was a small pickerel. I was ecstatic that I found a decent spot so close to my apartment. On my next cast, a much larger pickerel, easily over 20 inches exploded on my woolly bugger from under a brush pile. My line went limp as I set the hook. He had easily sliced right through my 3x. I brushed it off, and thought that it was just because I didn't check my tippet after the last fish. I tied on another fly, a much larger pattern. I was only going after the big guns now. A few casts later, in a deeper hole, another leviathan came out to play and once again my tippet was cut clean. I brushed it off again, cut off that silly piece of tippet, and tied another large streamer pattern straight to the butt section of my leader. 

I Had High Hopes After Landing This Guy.

My, What Big Teeth You Have.

A Broken Loop Revealed How Dirty My Line Is.

Too Much Brownlining.

I thought there was no way that another pickerel could cut through what was easily 15-20 pound test, but I was wrong. I lost another one of my favorite streamers. It fell victim to the blade like teeth of these voracious predators. After fumbling around the muddy banks, wading through forests of poison ivy, and sinking feet into mud, I called it quits. Of course this was after, I had lost yet another large pickerel (but not my fly) and the loop connection on my sharkskin broke. I left the stream, made my way up to the highway, and began the walk of shame back to the apartment. I was sad, dejected, and covered in mud. With the way my luck went, I am probably covered in poison ivy and deer ticks but that is the last thing on my mind. I am only thinking about a trip to the nearest fly shop, some steel leaders, and some freshly tied pike streamers. Next time, I will be prepared, and it most definitely will be a different story.