I slipped into the water just a few minutes before sunrise. The air calm, the water as smooth as glass. I could hear a few mallard ducks in the far distant shoreline of the lake, geese honking in a nearby field. Yes, it was shaping up to be a perfect day to be fly fishing.
The sun rises after my first fish, a small bluegill. The sun first hits the top of a tall Cottonwood just across the lake. The leaves shimmer in the golden light. Then the willows along the shoreline begin to shine a mustard yellow. A few bushes that I do not recognize are now showing red in color.
The water along that particular shoreline carries the reflections of the morning color. It is my golden pond for the moment. I cast into the reflection. I stand waist deep, waiting for a sign that a bluegill has taken the small imitation ant that I have presented to it.
To my right, the swan family, all nine of them, swim by. They are no more than twenty yards away. I am less a threat to them while standing in the water, or so it seems. They move quickly into my golden pond.
To my left, just ten yards away, the willows are full of Yellow-Rumped Warblers. They flit in and out, catching bugs that are flying above the water. My concentration moves from the birds to the fish that has just taken my fly. It is a small bluegill. After releasing the fish, and getting my hands wet for the first time, I can feel the chill in my fingers. It is not particularly cool out, but the water is chilly, and I notice it quickly.
A gentle breeze begins to blow out of the northeast. It is just enough to put a slight ripple in the water. I now feel the sun at my back, it is warm, my fingers welcome the heat.
The breeze dies as quickly as it started. A small group of geese fly just over my head. I was hidden by the willows and gave them quite a surprise when they noticed me. Another take. This time the fish feels larger and indeed it is. A lovely Redear, larger than my hand, comes splashing at my knees. I contemplate putting it on the stringer, and I do. But then I have a change of heart and release the fish to hopefully grow larger for another day.
I then notice little tangles of spider webs floating across the lake, one after the other. The look as though they are being held up by a single strand of web, reaching toward the sky. They move across the lake, sometimes just a few inches from the waters surface.
After catching a few more bluegills I watch as small groups of geese begin to land on the lake. Time for coffee.
The coffee is brewed on my stove along the shoreline. Once brewed I pour a cup and sit down along side a small patch of Hairy Asters. The flyrod, now by my side, as I sit and watch the geese come in.
Something else catches my eye along the shoreline, not far from where I sit. It is a Snipe, my first sighting of the fall season. It probes its long bill into the muddy ground in search of food. This shallow water loving bird is migrating through right now and its visit will be short-lived.
I sit and sip coffee for some time. I decide that the fishing is over for the day. No reason to finish the coffee quickly so I pour another cup.
A perfect day is a perfect day. It can last a few hours or all day long. What matters is what you get out of the time that you have spent in the outdoors.
•Some material may be graphic. Thought I better put that out there before I share this story.
After fishing I thought I had better spend some time with my chipmunk friends. It was a banner day too. I believe I had upwards of 15 chipmunks running along the downed tree in the backyard. I spend three hours photographing them before I went inside the house to work on another project.
It was no more than two minutes after being inside the house when I looked out the kitchen window. In flies the Coopers Hawk and it lands just down the hill. I watch for a few minutes all-the-while pondering on how I can get in position to get a photograph of the hawk.
But I don’t get the chance as the hawk takes flight. It goes straight at the tree and the chipmunks. It grabs a chipmunk just ten feet from where I had been sitting earlier. The hawk goes to the ground with the chipmunk. That is when I go for my sneak. But I do not get far. The hawk catches my movement and takes flight, the chipmunk still in its clutches.
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