Forget the Tubers, Watch Out for Photographers!
I know a lot of folks on this board are photographers. This isn't about you. I fished the Middle Prong today alone (without a fishing buddy). Those of you who know me know that I wear hearing aids. I leave them in the car while fishing lest I take an unintended dunking and soak $4,000 worth of digital equipment. Like most of you, I am pretty focused while fishing, so being hearing impaired leaves me in my own little world. Not a bad thing. So, today, I am snuggled up against a big boulder concentrating on high sticking my Copper John. Next thing you know, this voice yells down from the boulder "having any luck?". Fortunately I was wet wading. Had I been wearing waders I would have had to dig a hole and bury them. there stood a fellow from Virginia decked out in a safari outfit with a Nikon with a 2 foot lens and a tripod on top of my rock. I told him I just caught a nice one and a sizable brown I was working on just disappeared (wonder why). I reeled in and prepared to scramble the bank when he told me I was welcome to stay. I politely explained about seeing people on top of a boulder puts trout down, and wished him happy photo shoot. I moved up the stream a quarter mile and put in at a favorite d
Spot. Dang if the same thing didn't happen again with a fellow from New York just wading into the stream in front of me to take a picture of the sun on my pocket water. He asked me if I had ever heard of some place in New York. Said it is the "trout fishing capital of the U.S.. They stock the stream every two weeks!!!". I told him people who live there must be very lucky. They don't stock this stream at all. ;-). Call me crazy, but I don't think before I ever touched a fishing rod, that it wouldn' have occurred to me to have the courtesy to give a fisherman just a little space. As I scrambled the bank again, I stopped to pick up 3 cigarette butts someone had recently discarded. I realized not everyone thinks like me. Still a good day out on the stream
“The world is full of bastards, the number increasing rapidly the further one gets from Missoula, Montana.”
― Norman Maclean, A River Runs Through It