By Mike Sepelak
Twas the week before Christmas and down on the Haw
Not a fish was a’rising, the weather was raw.
The water was frigid and brisk was the air,
Too windy for fishing, but I didn’t care.
The largemouth were nestled down deep in their pools
While bluegill and sunfish were nobody’s fools.
And I in my waders and old fishing cap,
As usual just couldn’t cast worth a crap.
When further upstream there arose such a crash
I started, and slipped, and sat down with a splash.
My glasses went this way, my rod, it went that,
You know you’re in deep when you’ve floated your hat.
The gleam of the sun on the river around,
Was lovely, but heck, I was going to drown!!
When what to my wondering eyes should appear
But a funky old kayak. (The end must be near).
With a little old paddler, too fat for the boat
Who was trying his best just to keep it afloat.
Through the rapids he teetered, bounced off every big rock.
Old Nick’s in big trouble, I thought with a shock.
But as he got close to my favorite hole
He snapped it in place with a neat barrel roll
And glided in softly, as smooth as can be.
No fish would be spooked, except maybe me.
And then in a twinkling he popped out of his craft
Like a cork from a bottle, I shouldn’t have laughed.
He reached back inside and he slowly withdrew
A lovely old fly rod of shiny bamboo.
He was dressed all in Gore-Tex and looked straight from the pages
Of catalogs like Orvis’, Chota’s and Sage’s.
A vest full of goodies encircled his frame
With gadgets and zingers, too many to name.
He spoke not a word but went straight to his fun,
Throwing laser-like casts, seeming straight from a gun.
His roll casts were graceful, his loops were so tight.
Presentation was flawless, his drift was just right.
He threw Clausers and Zonkers, and woollies and strymphs,
Caddis and Adams and Cahills and nymphs.
He had all the mysteries of fishing debunked.
But darned if old Santa Claus didn’t get skunked.
I felt sort of bad for the jolly old elf
But why fish the Haw, I was asking myself.
He could have fished Battenkill, Madison, Snake
Seems that the Haw was a great big mistake.
I needn’t have worried, I had nothing to dread
For he gave me a wink and here’s what he said.
“We all should remember, and here’s what I’m wishing,
It’s not about fish, but it’s all about fishing”.
He sprang to his boat, to the rocks gave a push.
And shot down the stream with a splash and a woosh.
But I heard him exclaim as he drifted from sight.
“Happy Christmas to all, and to all keep lines tight!”
About The Author:
Mike lives in a wooded sliver of paradise outside of Pittsboro, North Carolina with his ever-patient wife Mary and Wilderness Dog Sammy. Fortunate enough to have recently retired, Mike now spends his days enjoying the natural beauty surrounding him, following his fly rod around the state, and is beginning to photograph and write about his adventures. See more at Mike’s blog.