*The Stream Of Time* - Printable Version +- Fishing Forum (https://bigfishtackle.com/forum) +-- Forum: Misc. Fishing Forums (https://bigfishtackle.com/forum/forumdisplay.php?fid=335) +--- Forum: Fishing Stories (https://bigfishtackle.com/forum/forumdisplay.php?fid=68) +--- Thread: *The Stream Of Time* (/showthread.php?tid=216764) |
*The Stream Of Time* - spinner - 08-24-2005 The Stream Of Time The alarm clock was ringing in my ear. I couldn't figure out why that thing was squaking in my ear at 3:00am. I sat up and reached across the bed to turn the infernal thing off. I turned off the alarm and laid down to go back to sleep. My bride of 35 years then elbowed me. she said: " Get out of bed you old fool." I responded: I am retired now, I thought we threw that alarm clock away!" She said: "Len is expecting you at 4am." It then dawned upon me.."I am going trout fishing today!" I sprang from my bed. Sprang is a relative word. As sprang as 62 year old recently retired school teacher can sprang. Today was the day. I was going to re-introduce myself to my childhood passion. *Trout * fishing. I quietly left the bedroom and brewed a pot of coffe. As the pot brewed, all the memories of my childhood fishing rushed over me. The day i was bitten by the trout fishing bug. It seemed just like yesterday. I have played that memory over and over again in my head many times. It usually happens when the first cold snap hit in late september. My dad rolled me out of bed at the crack of dawn. My Uncle Sig is already in the car waiting. The gear is packed and all that is left is to get me dressed and get me in the car. My dad hurries me...tells me that we need to get on the water before it gets too sunny. We are on our way. My dad turns the old buick westward. My dad and Uncle Sig are giddy with anticipation. They are talking about old outings they took together when they were young. My dad tells me about the first time he went fishing with his dad. I had heard that stories lots of times and d as he told the story...The fish he had caught had grow again from the last time he told the story. The road gets long and I nod off. All of a sudden my dad and uncle are almost shouting. Here is the bridge! My Uncle Sig exclaims. My uncle exits the buick and and gets down on all fours and crawls up to the bridge's edge. He peers over the bridge and then he crawls back and comes running to the car. Uncle Sig is really fired up. He says: "Young man there are a couple nice browns under that bridge with your name written on them!" My dad places me downstream from the bridge. My uncle Sig is in the sneak position again. He crawls to the edge of the bridge to aid me into placing my cast properly. My dad directs my cast with the aid of Uncle Sig. It seems just like yesterday. The beautiful brown trout takes my offering on the first cast. My dad and uncle are cheering me. The battle seemed infinite. I landed a smallish brown. My dad and uncle made me feel like that trout was the biggest and most beautiful trout they had ever seen. A farmer in truck drove by at the same time and gave me a thumbs up as he drove across the bridge. Man did I ever get side tracked. I got to get in the car and meet up with Len. The time is just screaming by. It screamed by just like all those years of teaching had. I had NEVER gotten a change to go back to that bridge. Teaching and family had just washed away any chance of getting back there. I met up with Len and we got into his truck for the trip to the BRIDGE. I did NOT remember the exact area of the bridge. I was 6 years old the last time there and I had slept the way there . I just knew a general area of the bridge. As Len drove to the bridge I tried to describe what the bridge looked like. I told Len the story about my first outing with my dad and uncle. I described the bridge to a tee. The way my uncle had hung off the bridge on his belly to direct my first cast. We searched and searched the area. We could not find the bridge. We stopped and looked at the map to see if there was a place we were missing. I was so . I could not find that bridge... it had disappeared. I could not talk with my dad or uncle. They both had been taken by the stream of time to where all good anglers go. We finally gave up on the Bridge and turned around and decided to hit some close water. Len slowed the truck...and said: "Peter is that it out in the field?" I said: " No, it can't be. It isn't the way I remember it. It was on the main road and it didn't look like that." Len told me that the county had straighten the road about 30 years ago and made a new bridge. That bridge out in the field had to be it. Len could see my disappointment in my face. I got out of the truck and strung up my rod. I asked Len if I could fish the stretch alone. I wanted to try to re-capture some of the magic of my ancient memories. Every thing looked different. I thought to myself that this couldn't be the bridge. I carefully approached the bridge hole.....I placed my first cast directly in the feed lane. A brown trout came up and took my presentation. I knelt down to net the brown...the memories rushed back....the bridge ruins jolted my memory. Don't let The Stream Of Time wash you away before you have found that bridge. Written by Len Harris Inspired by Peter G. [signature] Re: [spinner] *The Stream Of Time* - DanielJRioux - 08-30-2005 Good story, thanks for sharing it with us. [signature] Re: [spinner] *The Stream Of Time* - maddawg - 02-10-2006 Thanks Spinner [signature] |