The River

The closest waterway to my house is a river that looks like many rivers that drain urban areas.
An abused ribbon, tarnished by human proximity.

I drive past the river...I have for years.  

I turned my eyes and walked by, the river a beggar on the street.

And now, with a family and a full calendar and my need to be near water, it beckons.

The nearness to population that damaged this river is now its virtue to me.  I am that population.

Once on the road I can fish its banks in less than 5 minutes.  With a boat I can be afloat in about twice that amount of time.

The river is my "Bird in Hand...".

As a younger man I had time to drive to waterways that fulfilled my expectations of what a river should be.  Though I still take forays miles from home, my constant need for a watery fix has forced me to look close and look hard.

In trading my binoculars for reading glasses, peering close to what is near, an interesting change has occurred.  Though I can still see the damage and scars, there exists a thriving environment, holding on despite all the ills.

The river is no beggar, merely a waterway between meaningful employment and in need of a shower and shave. 

I have considered, for a few years now, spending more time on this river.  This year is that year.  Starting at ice out, I have walked the banks and floated it's currents. I've rowed through its wave chop, poled through its shallows and motored its channels.

Though my fly rod has always been near, I've taken very few casts.  Mostly I've been watching.

Learning.

What lies beneath...

I didn't intend to come back tonight.

The plan was to take a drive and fish another lake but some conflicts in scheduling at home made me reconsider.  It's a common enough problem.  Drive further for better fishing but decrease the time on the water...or stay close and get as much fishing in as possible.  It seems like I choose the latter more often than the former.

I decided to work down the shoreline and was paying attention to snapping turtle heads popping up and disappearing in the low easy waves.  I was waist deep and moving slow as I pulled out my camera and started taking a few zoomed shots.  I was hoping to get close enough to the bobbing turtles for a decent shot in the low light.  They kept popping up and then going back down.

In the back of my brain I was thinking about the story I told EB and JP the other night after fishing:

When I first moved here, my wife and I took the canoe out for a paddle on this lake to see what we could see.  Floating about 50' off shore in almost the exact location I was now standing, a large snapping turtle caught my attention as it clattered down the rocky bank, hit the water and bee-lined directly to the canoe, ramming it with it's nose.  It was obvious that it was not rushing out to make friends.

There I stood with a number of my important body parts below water line, trying to sneak up on snapping turtles...the thought was still bouncing around my brain when something rammed into my leg.  Thinking turtle but hoping carp I kicked at it and I am pretty sure I said a "word" out loud.  Whatever it was rammed me again prompting me to clear out quick. I didn't stop until my thighs were above waterline.

I headed back to my usual post on the lake.   A place where in previous nights nothing had rammed into my leg underwater.  I had a number of short strikes and popped a few small white bass.  At 10:30 after a couple dozen unanswered casts, I pointed my camera up at the half-moon, snapped a few pics, waded to shore with my lower extremities still intact and headed home.

This is the picture I was snapping when I got rammed in the leg.  Further inspection of the photo has changed my mind about the critters I was looking at.  The pointed snout suggests that they weren't snapping turtles but instead Spiny Softshell Turtles. The DNR's website says this about them "...spiny softshells are often aggressive when seized, and can inflict painful bites."  Good to know.