I took my sweet time fishing down the creek. It was one of the those perfect sunset days, lighting up the trees and making the green seem more lush than usual.
Around 100 yards down at the bend were 3 drunks hanging out on the shore fishing. One actually walked up the opposite shore casting a spinnerbait and fishing far too fast. The other two sat with one pole out in the water in typical catfish presentation style. It didn't matter that where they had their line was too fast and shallow to catch much of anything. It didn't matter that the deeper, slower pool was less than 100 feet away. It didn't seem to matter much that this was a creek. In ten years of fishing it pretty extensively, I've only caught one catfish. I think it would be a pretty safe bet to say that there are no catfish here.
What did matter was that they were able to park their pickup truck 15 feet away and only carry their cooler of beer a few feet. I could hear their conversation 100 yards away. There's no such thing as a group of quiet drunks. One of the reasons they're loud is because the more you drink the more the alcohol shuts down your hearing.
I fished my way down to them as slow as possible. I was hoping they would leave before I got across from them. I picked up another 3 smallies and missed the same amount.
In a way I was grateful to be fishing this slow. That's what the fish wanted. When I got across from them they screamed some conversation I can no longer remember, except about their fishing for catfish. I didn't bother telling them what I thought. Wouldn't have done any good.
By the time I got to the next bend, which wasn't that far, the rush of water over rocks drowned them out. This was the quiet I was hoping to enjoy. Picked up another smallie at that bend.
With all the water that has been coming down this creek over the past year, new obstacles seem to appear with every visit. Many of the shore lines along the creek are getting slowly eaten away and it seems a different tree comes down across the creek with each visit.
I kept fishing a little further down and picked up a couple of more smallies. In all that was 7 for the couple of hours I spent here, with another half dozen seen just nipping at the tail of the twister.
I had got far down stream and decided to call it quits. I really wanted to keep going, but there's a bluff about 40 feet high that runs along the west side of this little flood plain. When the sun falls behind it, the darkness settles in pretty fast even though the sky directly above is still bright blue. Little light filters down through the trees and walking through the brush is hard enough when you can see what you're doing.
Years ago during one of the floods a port-a-potty had drifted deep into the woods of the flood plain. Parts of it were scattered all over. Someone had come along and set up part of it so it could be put back to use.
Personally, I prefer a tree.