The Lost Art of Fishing Stories E-Book

Andrew J. Cox

• Herausgeber: WS
• Kategorie: Lebensstil
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2023

Seitenzahl: 116

Beschreibung

In a world where digital technology has taken over, the art of storytelling is quickly being lost. But there is one place where the tradition of storytelling still thrives: in the fishing community.

The Lost Art of Fishing Stories is a collection of one fly-fisherman’s incredible tales. These stories are sure to capture the heart of readers of all ages.

In a time when we are more connected than ever before, The Lost Art of Fishing Stories is a reminder of the importance of sharing stories and connecting with each other on a human level.

Leseprobe

The Lost Art

of

Fishing Stories

Copyright © 2023 Andrew J. Cox

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or used in any manner without the prior written permission of the copyright owner, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. 

To request permissions or if you have questions please contact the publisher at [email protected].

Paperback: ISBN: 979-8-9893854-0-9

Ebook: ISBN: 979-8-9893854-1-6

First paperback edition November 2023.

Cover Art by Onie “Virginia” Bailey

Illustrations by Onie “Virginia” Bailey

Photographs owned by Andrew J. Cox

Edited by Cox Family Publishers

Dedication

Dedicated to my wonderful wife, Karleen Cox, who has supported me in every adventure and to my beautiful daughters, Maddie Jean Starr and Tayla Jo Allyson, who keeps me young at heart every day.

Introduction

My fly fishing started much later in life than most. I was in my 30’s before I even attempted to fly fish. Once I started this sport, I quickly realized that fly fishing is a “lost art” and through trial and error I slowly learned this “lost art” to at least an amateur level. During my long hours spent learning to cast, tie flies, and attempt to catch fish (not very successful starting out) I had many thoughts about life and growing up learning “lost arts” that unfortunately don’t get passed down to everyone. I had many conversations with myself and did some deep soul searching on each fishing trip.

I started telling my fishing stories to my friends and family and they brought up that I should write the stories down. After giving that some time to marinate, I decided that I would do just that; write my crazy stories. With that I decided to reach out to my local hometown paper (Vian Tenkiller News) to see if they would be interested in me writing a column for their paper and they agreed. This book contains some of the stories I wrote for that paper. It was a fun time writing the stories and I hope that you enjoy them as much as I did writing them.

“Wishing you bent rods and tight lines.”

The Lost Art

Beep, Beep, Beep, Beep............"Nnnnnoooo, to early!!!!"

Reminding me how early it was, my wife says, "Please turn the alarm off and go back to sleep. You know you aren't really going this early."

"It's not that I want to get up this early, but the earlier the better. Just go back to sleep."

"Whatever!"

As I try to get up, the dogs, laying between my legs, look up as if saying, "if you think I'm moving for you, you have another thing coming." So, I do the next best thing, pull my legs up toward my chest, over the dogs, and slowly sit up.

"Don't worry yourself, I can manage without your help." After sitting there for several minutes thinking maybe this is a bad idea I decide to get up and start the day.

"First things first, coffee!"

Getting up this early I know I will need something to get me going. I go into the kitchen, start a pot of coffee, knowing I need enough for my thermos as well.

I then stumble to the bathroom for the morning routine of the three S's. Completing the third S, I look myself in the mirror.

"It will be worth it once the day is done."

I get dressed as warm as I can. Long johns, running pants, long sleeve shirt, boots, beanie, and neck gator. This should keep me warm the rest of the morning.

I make my way over to my wife, still sleeping away.

How in the world was I able to get a woman this great?

She's followed me around the world during my Marine Corps career pushing me to do my best, reminding me that I can do anything I set my mind to. She is the perfect wife.

I lean over saying quietly, "I love you sweetie" and give her a kiss on her cheek.

She mumbles, "I love you too".

I wonder if she has just said it as a response to the morning routine. Many times, she has said,

"I don't remember when you leave in the mornings and what is said between the two of us."

I laugh out loud and head for the kitchen. When I reach the coffee pot, I fill my travel mug. As I reach over to grab my thermos a memory of my father floods over me. I remember going to work with him when I was around ten and he had an old beat-up thermos. It was green with a silver cap that served as his coffee cup. This is the reason I purchased my thermos, green with the silver cap. I guess I'm still trying to be like dad. He has been in heaven for a while and I wish we could still share time together, but what better way to communicate with him than to emulate him. They say, to emulate someone is the best form of flattery and I am still trying to emulate a great man.

After filling my thermos, I hear my father-in-law just getting up, probably taking medicine, and getting dressed for the day. Well, I may not have dad here anymore, but at least I have my father-in-law. It's great to still have that father figure. I should probably tell him, so he knows how I feel. Maybe later in the day. I do need to get on the road.

"Dang! I forgot to warm the truck up," I exclaim.

Oh well, I guess the ride there will be a little chilly. That's what I get for letting my mind wonder and not paying attention to what is going on. I get in the truck, start it, look in the mirror seeing the exhaust.

"Yep, it's cold out.! Well, here I go."

I start heading down the road, my truck revved up as it's still a little cold. The land here on the mountain is sure pretty. I have been many places; California, North Carolina, Virginia, Japan, Iraq, all the states across I-40 and I-20 from sea to shining sea; and realize that it is here, small town, Vian and Blackgum, Oklahoma, that I enjoy being the most. I drive by Lake Tenkiller and start getting a little excited. It is this lake that feeds my addiction. Yes, I said addiction. Addiction may be a little strong, but I do love it.

I continue on down the road past the lake and toward Gore. Taking this road brings back more memories. I remember visiting cousins as a child and thinking how long it took to drive the ten miles from Vian to Gore. It had to have taken a good hour and a half to get there. It always seemed like an all-day excursion to a young child. I laugh out loud.

"I guess it is true. The older you get the faster time flies."

I flash out of the memory just in time to see my turn. I turn on the blinker and make a quicker than expected turn on the gravel road. My back end slides a little.

"Wake up crazy."

The last thing I need is to get stuck or have an accident. I slow and drive down the small gravel road. Once under control I realize that I am not cold anymore and the heater is doing its job.

"Thank God for heaters."

I pass several signs that indicate public hunting land, see open fields, and even three or four tree stands. I continue thinking about my friends that love getting out this early, sitting in a tree stand waiting for the perfect buck to walk by. You have to really love something to just sit there and wait for it to come to you. I am sure once I retire I will more than likely be doing the same thing though.

"Enjoyment comes in many different forms, might as well just have fun."

I look ahead at the Y, take the left and head down a quarter of a mile. Upon arrival, I turn the truck off and take a deep breath.

"Here we go."

I open the door and the cold air hits me like a ton of bricks.

"Holy Cow!"

I quickly walk around to the back of the truck, open the tailgate, and grab my pack. Opening the top, I look inside. I see my waders and boots. I pull them out and lay them on the tailgate. Looking over I see the river calmly rolling by. I imagine how cold the water must be. Looking on I see a ring form on the far side of the river. I continue to watch the spot and within minute's the ring forms again.

"Yes! There you are."

Seeing the distinctive ring on the surface of the water from a rising trout gets me all excited and the cold just melts away.

After seeing the trout surfacing repeatedly, I quickly grab my waders and put them on as if my life depended on it. I grab my boots and just as quickly put them on. I reached in my pack, grab my jacket, and put it on over my waders. Now I am bundled up "as snug as a bug in a rug", as my wife likes to say.

Next, I grab my rod holder and pull-out Rufus to assemble him. Rufus is a Temple Fork Outfitters, 5/6 weight, 9 ft. fly rod. Rufus may not be the most refined rod I've seen and is more ruff around the edges, much like me. He was not expensive and is the second fly rod I've had the pleasure of owning. I check Rufus' line to make sure I have the floating line and then thread the line through Rufus' eyelets. I check Rufus' leader to see if there are any wind knots and if the line is straight. Then look to see if there is enough tippet on the end. "Of course, why would there be enough?" I only want to get my feet in the river and cast a line to see if Rufus and I can battle with the multicolored fish making rings on the surface of this beautiful river."

I check my chest pack for my tippet and find the 5x tippet. This will be perfect for the trout in this river. I snip off a two-foot section and tie it onto Rufus' leader.

"Perfect." I look in my chest pack for my flies.

"Rufus, what fly do you think we should go with today?"

Rufus just sits there, leaning against my truck, ignoring me, much like my dogs did this morning while getting out of bed.

"Right, a nymph is what I was thinking too."

I take a gold bead reddish/brown nymph and decide that this would be the one. I close up the chest pack and tie the nymph onto Rufus' newly replaced tippet. I then grab an indicator, tie it on the leader about 4 foot above the nymph.

"This will help Rufus."

Rufus knows that using an indicator isn't really the preferred method but given our current situation it will work just fine. After all I did forget to bring all my dry flies.

(Quick tip; when packing for a fishing trip you need to be sure to pack everything you may or may not need. It is better to have it with you and not use it, then to get there and realize you don't have what you need.)

"I know Rufus, lesson learned."

Rufus again just looked at me as if I were crazy and just stood there in silence, probably laughing at me inside.

"Almost ready Rufus. Only thing left is the coffee."

I go back to the cab of the truck and grab my thermos and walk back to Rufus.

"It would be one long morning without this."

I put the thermos in my backpack, sling it over my shoulders, grab Rufus and head toward the river. As I walk over, I again see the trout from earlier, still making rings on the surface and I get even more excited.

I grab Rufus and prep him to cast into the river. I know we can't start casting the line directly to the rising trout, so we cast closest to our side of the river upstream. Rufus and I start false casting his line making quick movements front and back, feeding line out until there is approximately twenty feet. I then make one final false cast to get the line exactly where I want and let it go. Rufus then thrusts the line straight up the river just to the left side of the main current.

"Perfect Rufus."

I lift Rufus slowly as the line floats back to me. I strip in line to keep it straight in case the multicolored trout decides to take the meal I so carefully prepared. I can then quickly set the hook and bring the multicolored trout to me for a visit. I do this over and over working my way across the river toward the rising trout I had seen earlier.

"Next cast will be right in its path. Be ready".

Together Rufus and I made the perfect cast right in the path of the trout. Again, I lift Rufus as the line floats back to me striping in line. Then my indicator slips under the water without any big movement or splash.

"Hit it, Rufus!" I quickly thrust upward and make a short crisp strip.

"Bingo, fish on!"

The multicolored trout decided having a nymph attack him was a bad omen and took off like a bullet up the river. As the trout ran up the river I allow line to feed through my hand, Rufus' eyelets, and down toward the trout. This allowed the extra line to get extended out and the reel to buzz.

"I love it when a fish strips out line. Almost better than....."

The fish then darts in a new direction down river toward me.

"No! Reel! Faster, faster, faster!!!!!!! Pay attention!"

Just as abruptly as the first time the trout darted in another direction. I counter by moving Rufus toward my left shoulder. The fish seems to be getting tired now. I reel him in bringing him closer and closer.

Once he is at my feet I reach over, grab the line with my hand, put Rufus under my arm, reach down with my other hand and gently pick up the trout.

"Very nice!" A fine 14-inch multicolored trout.

I have no reason to take the fish home as a dinner guest, so I tell Rufus "We'll let him go to fight us again another day."