Went fishing with my father at a pond that will go unnamed. Water temperature was 47 degrees, sky was overcast, wind was light and from the east.
I felt some degree of excitement, because the second generation of my mealworm colony was on the hook for my success, both metaphorically and literally. I started this colony of mealworms in October, I believe, and my original carton of 50 has turned into quite a few larvae.
Even before we started, my father described fishing with bait as a "debasement of morals" but then we stopped at a country store, and he picked up a carton of red worms. Morals are a fine thing until fish are on the line, both metaphorically and literally. I wonder how many times I can use that joke before it gets stale.
I fished with a mealworm tipped jighead under a slip bobber, while my father fished with a flyrod and a red worm. He made his way around the right bank, and I made my way around the left bank.
My father switched to a marabou crawdad pattern and caught a nice bass:
One of the benefits of fishing with someone is the ability to share the elation that comes with success, and commiserate in the despondency and solicitude that come with failure. And it's ideal if the fishing partner is your father, or your son, presumably, because there isn't a push to be competitive, to kneecap your opponent and steal his tackle and scuttle his boat, because mutual regard and love preclude that kind of shenanigans.
However, it is a bummer that my mealworms weren't effective, since I'd been anticipating doing well on them following some success earlier in the year. I don't think that today was a repudiation of my base and depraved bait-fishing tactics, however, and will try mealworms in the immediate future, since I will have an ample stock in a few weeks.
Anyway, here's to the new year, with hope in our hearts that it surpasses all those previous, and a certainty in our heads that it won't.
