Was the canal drained? I could see a lot of exposed, hard dried caked As soonĪs I walked up to the section I had planned on fishing I saw something wasĪmiss. I hadn’t been down here in ages it had to have been at least a year. This, however, isn’t what I found when I got there.
#AUSTIN STONE FLOOD MY SOUL FULL#
The canals get narrower and deeper, full of all species of Houses, where the tree cover gets thick and even during the day it’s cool, I followed the path along the canals down through the Some of these it’s been years since I’ve actually fished. Library Pond, The Secret Spot, Valley Ranch, all of these have a special place Lake, The Back Pond, Andy Brown, The Creek, The across the street part of the Grew up on The Drain, below the spillway at the Drain, The Library, Mason’s Other fish, but we didn’t care, as long as we were getting out and fishing. We would always catch some bass, bluegill, bullheads, and Koi we called Ghost that I have still yet to catch- about 10 years now I’veīeen trying as well. We wouldĬast and reel, laughing and catching fish. Mason’s lake, named of course after one of the buddies I fished with. Many a day was spent standing on the concrete path by the pond we knew as Go fishing in a couple of the ponds in the area that were sure to contain fish. Way back when a couple boys from my school and I decided that we all ought to I started fishing these places back in elementary school, Pondbass for years, even though now I rarely go out in pursuit of these green Situations that middle school age boys imagine in the summer. The cool breeze coming through the storm drains on our legs, each sitting withĪ ridiculously sweet Arizona iced tea casting wacky rigged worms out shortĭistances and twitching them every so often, discussing all of those ridiculous Young age sitting on the culvert in the dog days of summer with Marty, feeling With my foot and twitching a plastic worm across the bottom and pulling outīass every couple casts, setting the hook like I’d seen the pro’s do from a Pretend was the front deck of a bass boat, working an imaginary trolling motor With small streamers standing on the concrete culvert that I always used to Is clear, sight casting to bass and big bluegill holding tight to the banks The bottom with a clouser minnow and nicking a lethargic largemouth on almostĮvery cast Walking around in the early springtime with Jonathan when the water Snowboarder out in the winter, consistently casting and retrieving, dredging I’d done particularly well those times in the winter when I couldn’t feel myįingers, toes, or ears, donning a floppy beanie and full winter garb rivaling a Images flood my memories every time I pound the banks of times when The good old days when I prowled these ponds full time with both a fly rod andĪ bass rod. I’ve grown up with a lot of these waters near me.
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