Stan Hitchcock-View From The Front Porch-May 15, 2013

5AM, and the morning sky is lit with a beautiful shade of rose color. The birds started abou 4:30, the same two Mourning Doves, and scores of smaller chirpers, whistlers, and singers of all description. Above it all, of course, is the faithful Mockingbird, who always sings for my morning coffee.

I'm up to go seek the mighty bass. The fish of the common man, where you don't have to wear the clothes from Orvis, fish the flys that are so tiny that to thread one on a line is a dream of a younger man...no, the bass fisherman is a whole 'nuther animal. Instead of waders that cost as much as my wedding suit, fly rods that are so light you almost forget you have them in your hand, and the little fly fisherman hats that they wear...with us bassers, it's cutoffs and ball caps with Bass Pro signs on them.

I tried that fancy fly fishing once. Several years ago, my friend Ron Thompson came to visit from California, over the 4th of July. He convinced me we should get serious about fly fishing. I took him up to the Caney Fork River, here in Tennessee, all decked out in brand new waders and assorted equipment to be a genuine fly fisherman. This was back when I could even thread one of them little flies on my line and everything.

We got down to the river and I mingled myself right in the middle of the fancy fly boys. I mean these guys were serious, they neither looked left nor right, they did not joke with each other...I spoke to the guy closest to me, "Hey, pardner, how's it going?", and he must have been deaf cause he didn't even flinch. So, okay, this wasn't a social event I reckon.

I worked my fly rod like a pro, I thought, whupping that little fly into the swift water of the Caney. Wham! I had a trout on, and I got him in and it was about 10 inches long. Hmmmm, okay, that was alright, I thought as I released him back in the water. That size fish would have made a good bait for a big ole bass.

What I should have been doing, was watching the Jokester, Ron Thompson...who had gone off upstream, and wasn't even trying to infiltrate this silent brotherhood of fly fisherman, like I was. I got my line layed out on the water again, ready to catch a big one this time. All of a sudden, the water between me and the real fly fishers erupted in a mighty explosion, sending water all over me and the rest of the group. Upstream, Ron Thompson was celebrating the 4th of July by lighting Cherry Bombs, tossing them into the swift water and letting them float down stream to explode in the middle of the Fraternity Of Fly Men.

We barely got out of the River and back to my truck, alive and in one piece, only because of a quick retreat, because real fly fishermen can't move very fast with all that gear that they have hanging on them.

Ron Thompson went back to California, still laughing about the 4th of July fireworks on the Caney Fork...I returned to my roots as a Bass fisherman, who does not have to wear them hot waders in 100 degree Southern temps, and the World Of Fly Fisherman did not even hate to see me go.

So, today, my friend Greg is on the way, we will have a great time of fellowship in my Bass Boat, I get to wear my Bass Pro cap, we might even catch the "big one" today that we know is just waiting out there, and all is well on the Porch of the Old Farm House.

The picture below is another adventure with Greg and Stan in search of smallmouth bass in Smith's Fork river in Tennessee back a few years ago.

Stan