Ice Out.

After a few chance encounters and some blistering runs, a seed was planted deep in the chasm of our souls. It took root and spread like wildfire until it encompassed our every thought and feeling. It took hold in the heart of summer when the sun was high and the mosquitos thick. We didn't know it at the time but what we were experiencing that summer was extraordinary. By the time the action died down, it was too late. Like some old girlfriends, we never truly knew what we had, until it was gone. Just like the girls, the fish disappeared unwilling to come out and play in the cold doldrums of winter. As we released our umpteenth stocked rainbow back into the Little Schuylkill, thoughts of the summer began to creep into our minds. The temperature was steadily rising, and thoughts of small ponds and lakes clear of ice ruffled the embers deep down within. Before long, we left the ten inch stockers that fought like turds, and headed for a much more scenic atmosphere.

Embrace the Atmosphere.

Three Pairs of Blurry Lips.

We drove around an hour back in the direction of home before pulling into some company grounds. We parked next to an eighteen wheeler, a dumpster, and an old bulldozer. We stepped out of the truck and embraced the warm air and the thick familiar smell. The smell of an old mill operating on all cylinders pumping out particles that fell onto the surface of the pond and wafted in the air. We didn't bother to rig up, opting to survey the water before wasting any time. Before long, some lips breached the surface in the shallows and then some more. The carp feed was on. We wasted little time rigging up.

It's A Golden...Goldfish.

Some Young Child's Lost Carnival Prize.

Adam went first. A pod of several small carp were feeding in about a foot of water sucking a thin layer of who knows what off the surface. In and around the carp were twigs, logs, bags, goldfish, and all sorts of trash. Obstacles. The first cast was carefully calculated. Pinpoint accuracy was required to lay it just right amongst all the chaos in the filth. Timing was necessary to prevent an errant back cast from snagging a passing Mack Truck. The cast was perfect, directly in between two passing carp. The heavily weighted fly failed to break the surface. It instead created a tiny dimple in a new obstacle. The white scum coated the entire surface of the water and acted like a spider web catching a fly. Our flies. The young carp failed to take notice at our futile attempt. After several more shots, we broke through and Adam promptly tied into a large goldfish. It was enough to send the carp into hiding creating an even harder situation out of an already brutal game.

I Don't Want To Know.

A Spider Web of Jizz.

I went next. I ignored the feeding taking place in close and opted for a passing brute out yonder. I had several chances but no takers. Finally, a respectable golden ghost approached at my eleven o'clock and I was able to lead him by several yards. He meandered over and the indicator dipped. I set ferociously and the 4x snapped too easily. I told myself to calm down and I retied. However, it was not my fault at all. The knot connected to my indicator broke under a gentle pull. This newfound substance on the water was eroding our lines. Welcome to the brownlining world. We inspected the rest of the small cesspool before packing it in. The year's first carp experience coming to a close. Shutout, rejected, and feeling dirty we drove home content with the morning's fishing experience and amped up for some spring carp.

Laying One Out Amongst a Pile of Flotsam.

You Have To Love Carp Scenery.

A Cruising Golden Ghost.

A Low Profile Usually Helps.

A Familiar Carp Feeling. Rejection.

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