I read a great article by Scott Sadil in the latest Drake about bad luck.
There was a debate involved about how the word for such terrible luck
was spelled in a foreign language. Much like Scott, I've come to the
conclusion that no matter how it's spelled or in what language it's
spoken, I've got it. So much so that I believe the word "exorcism" was
mentioned on the skiff the other day, in between the necessary foul
language and disappointed head shakes. Of course, those head shakes
were from myself and other humans. Head shakes from fish were orders
taller than I was able to fulfill for the majority of the trip.
It only stands to reason that the first day was full of fish spottings.
While some were too far away, others were well within normal casting
distance. By "normal" I mean distances which I had easily cast the day
before. Some spooked when the boat approached while we were busy
looking at other fish. Some spooked after I dropped the fly directly on
top of them after failing to present it properly in consecutive prior
attempts. Lead them? I think I've heard that somewhere before ...
Regrettably, my casting arm must have forgotten such sage advice
along some trout stream. Returning to the matter at hand, some fish I
never even saw, and these especially were followed by the
aforementioned head shakes and profanity. The fish weren't small
either: permit, bonefish, and tarpon were all spotted (and cast to
unsuccessfully, depending on your definition of "cast") in size ranges
that would make your first or fiftieth Slam memorable. Unfortunately,
the memory of those fish for me will be my timely inability to present a
fly in a remotely appetizing way. I was much more capable of either
insuring that the fish had no chance of seeing the fly or rudely intruding
on their personal space in the most aggressive way possible. If I had
gone to the Keys to film a blooper reel, I would have filled the A and B
rolls in the first day of fishing. Of course there was a positive, if you can
call it that, a silver lining of sorts. Turns out I'm really great at feeding
jacks. When I can't make a cast to a school of large bonefish moving
away at forty feet, I'm more than happy to make that cast at twice that
distance to a school of jacks doing the same thing. And of course they
oblige by eating, as jacks are wont to do. It's too bad that a couple of
nice-sized jacks does nothing to improve confidence after a day of
emphatically blowing every other shot. But at least it keeps the distinct
smell of skunk off the boat. At the end of the first day, all we could hope
was tomorrow would see similar conditions, similar fish numbers, and
an entirely different A.J.