The tide had reached its highest rise
Beneath the starry late spring skies
And so the time had come to pass
To maybe catch a stripe-ed bass.
Absent hearing a loud pop,
Into the water flies did drop
A drift, a mend, and then a tug
A shrimp fly ate by silver thug.
A small bass was caught next to me,
“I’m the Shad King!” was my decree.
A second one on deer hair shrimp
on whose materials I did scrimp.
On the dangle, another spot
I felt the bump, but hooked ’twas not
Then, while standing in a slog
I lost my fly rig on a log
And so it goes, this striper funk
More trips than not I get the skunk
It makes me want to scream and shout
Instead I think I’ll fish for trout.
I fought the log and log won. A stupidly simple grass shrimp pattern: sparse fine bucktail tail, silver body braid under criss-crossed white thread, deer hair wing, head trimmed caddis style.