Blame it on the full moon, but this evening , my casting Sucked! Let me back up… I just spent two weeks recouping from a lower back injury. One day I was walking tall like a normal homo sapien, King of the Hill, and the next morning I found my self on all fours crawling to the toilet wishing that, like any normal member of the animal kingdom, it would be okeedoekee to just shit on the floor rather than climb the Mount Everest of Porclin towering before me. Anyhow! I am once again a human being. My back is strong, and so I decided to head over to the American River and practice casting my #6 Helios Switch rod which I had not seriously engaged since last February steelhead season.
This is August 12. Shad are leaving the river in tight balls of spinning silver, hoping to return to the Pacific Ocean without being picked off one by one by marauding otters, stripers, osprey, and great blue herons. Striped bass are throughout the river; the summer run of steelhead has begun. The moon glows brightly in the blue evening sky as dragonflies sweep low to the water snatching caddis emerging before the sun settles behind the cottonwoods. Oaks border the clear, cool river flows of which I wade into with my fly rod in hand.
Eleven feet long, my rod felt good, light , flexible and familiar, well balanced to my Hardy St. John. I felt like I was meeting up with two old girlfriends for some cool beers, and with whom I was looking forward to a good conversation of catch-up. I made a cast, and another, then another and another. My timing was off. Way off, and in spite of it, some how I managed to catch a small striper, my first on a mini spey. It made me smile and temporarily forget how my casting sucked. I was reminded just how rusty one can become… lose the synchronization that comes with repetition. Once in a while I would send off a good cast; so there is hope for the future. There will be a fine reunion under a full moon.