The vernal equinox—astronomical spring—has arrived early this year on the gray, somber, and soggy morning of March 19 amid times when the times are “out of joint” as Hamlet said it, and a virus disease has put the financial, political, and social world far below its normal troubled comfort level. I will resist the temptation to indulge in the Pathetic Fallacy, the artistic and literary convention that attributes human emotion to nature, because there will doubtless be days of pristine skies and the gaiety of spring upcoming when the Covid19 virus is still raging.

“Shelter in place” and “hunker down” are terms we are hearing often from medical authorities and government officials. These usually mean “stay inside”. They speak mostly to an urban or suburban society in which persons have only the personal space of apartments or small houses and lots to occupy with the trace of personal sovereignty that millennia of creeping authority has left us. In such times—if it comes to this—we country folks will realize the extent of our good fortune that our “place” expands from the square feet of a few rooms to acres of the vast outdoors.

This equinox is the 14th consecutive day that I have fished. My heart is not much in going because on the Solunar calendar it is a poor day, but the period during which fish are most likely to be active is at a reasonable 7:42 am. Rains in the night (badly needed to re-fill the lake at Washington) have turned the water in the small lake I am fishing to the color of milk chocolate. The rain has abated at this time and the wind quieted to the point that the water is smooth as a brown sheet of wrapping paper. Anglers hate east winds, but many of us are savvy enough to have figured out that no wind is almost as bad. I’ll pick a good nor ’wester, even if it’s a cold one, and breakers busting shore to shore, over a placid surface!

I clip on a half-ounce Rat L Trap lipless crank, black over gold to match the brown water. Beginning in the upper shallow end, I begin to toss the Trap in an arc of 180 degrees. The lure returns on most casts with green slime—algae—I must remove by hand. Weed growth is underway early this year. Lipless lures get through weeds better than square bills or any other lipped bait, which would really be a trial to fish here today. I work toward the dam and the deep end where the lure will run better, stopping to cast where bank terrain will allow, and there are more such spots because the owner green-lighted me to do some work with lopping shears. On a long cast near the dam a bass slams the Trap. It is only 12 inches, a bare minimum legal keeper, but it makes me happy because it chases away the skunk for this entire outing! It is also a camera “keeper”, and after a photo I let it “go to grow”. This sortie is all good relaxed fun from here on.

The banks are slick and steep enough to be treacherous. I lean back to make sure the cast will not catch in a willow, go too far, and my feet soar from under me, bringing me down on by rear. It is not a painful fall but I have to leverage with a sturdy willow and turn from sitting onto my knees to get up, a maneuver that is no longer easy. When telemarketers call trying to sell alert systems and ask if I’ve ever fallen, I laugh and reply, “All the time!”

Two more bass like the Trap, one 14 inches and the other 15, upgrading my catch. I feel blessed and am glad to secure the Trap in the keeper and take the long walk out. I have overdressed and am sweating. I have fished another of these anxious days, self-quarantined under the breadth of God’s best infirmary in perfect safety from the world’s current scourge. Other than the three bass I have encountered only six geese and flock of bluebills, none within six feet. My venture out into my expanded “shelter place” has made me neither a risk nor at risk.

Some closures and erroneous announcements have caused consternation among outdoor enthusiasts. There are reports of locked down parks adjacent to lakes, leading to one post that all the fishing would have to be in ponds. But the boat ramps are not being locked down, which is a sensible decision. Fishing is not a risk of virus spread. Close family companions in a bass boat are no more risk to each other than when in their household. Bank fishing pals should minimize risk by travelling to fishing sites in separate vehicles and maintaining the recommended distances. A solitary angler such as myself plies his avocation in perfect security. The corona virus is not lurking in the bankside willows and the air over lakes and streams to fell unwary fishermen. Nor will it hide among the tree shades of the turkey woods to stalk hunters next month. There would be zero justification for policies that would stop individual fishing, interfere with the spring gobbler season, or prevent running or walking for exercise.

I intend to carry on at fishing and praying. I have a 14 day streak going with the fishing. My string of consecutive days of doing the other stretches backward beyond memory.

Sam Bevard
https://maysville-online.com/wp-content/uploads/2020/03/web1_Sam-Bevard_2-2.jpgSam Bevard

Sam Bevard