Duck River/Normandy 4/8/24

While the world was enamored with the big eclipse I took advantage of a rare weekday off and headed to the Duck river and then Normandy lake.

As I approached the river, I noticed a subtle change in its demeanor. The water levels were slightly higher than usual, and there was a hint of opacity, as if the river had absorbed the essence of the recent rainfall. Nevertheless, undeterred by these nuances, I eagerly prepared my gear, anticipating the treasures that lay beneath the surface.

Armed with a box of nymphs and #10 olive streamers, I prepared myself for a mediocre day of fishing but was pleasantly surprised with enough trout to call it a good day. Despite the stained waters, the trout were in a cooperative mood, graciously accepting my offerings. With each tug on the line, I felt a rush of excitement, reveling in the primal connection between man and nature.

As I continued my pursuit upriver, the realization dawned upon me that the window for trout fishing was narrowing. With the impending warmer temperatures, the good trout would soon be all but gone until the next season beckoned. Yet, for now, the fair fishing conditions persisted, and I cherished every moment spent in their company.

With the sun beginning its descent towards the horizon, I decided to explore the shores of Normandy Lake, a stone’s throw away from Duck River. Here, amidst the rip rap shoreline near the dam, a different challenge awaited me – the pursuit of bass. Armed with larger topwater patterns, I sought to entice the largemouth lurking beneath the surface.

To my delight, the bass were receptive to my offerings, particularly the formidable #2 gurgler in purple and brown. The water erupted often enough that I stayed on a 30-yard stretch of shoreline for over an hour. The thrill of the chase was enough to remind me about the things in life that really matter like a good bird dog, a fine fly rod, and the peace that one can only find when the get outside.

But the largemouth bass were not the only inhabitants of these waters. Amidst the rocky terrain, I encountered a couple smallmouth, their bronze bodies blending seamlessly with the rip rap covered lake bottom.. With #6 tan woolly buggers as fly of choice, I managed a couple smallies before I broke off on a third and called it a night.

As the golden hues of dusk enveloped the landscape, I reflected upon the day’s adventures with a sense of fulfillment. The Duck River, with its mysteries and marvels, had once again bestowed upon me moments of serenity and exhilaration. In its depths, I had found not only the thrill of the catch but also a profound connection to the natural world—a connection that lingers long after the lines have been cast and the fish released back into their watery domain.