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Men enjoy bonding by being alone together
One of the chief reasons we guys like to go fishing together is that it gives us a chance for some real companionship and bonding. Case in point: "Hey, Phil, you still up for fishing today?" "You bet. I've got all the stuff out in the truck," he says enthusiastically. "Since I'm getting off earlier than you, how about if we drive separately and just meet under the Mehama Bridge and decide where to go?" "OK, see you there," Phil responds. So I get to the spot, rig up, and just as I'm getting ready to make the first cast, he drives up and parks. "This looks pretty good," I said, looking at the glassy green pool in front of me. "But with your style of casting with the fly rod, the top part of the pool should be good. "I've seen a lot of fish come out of there." "Yell if you get something, and I'll come back and help you land him," Phil says as he heads upriver.
Mother Nature joins fight to control Rapid bass
For the past several years the number of bass in the Rapid River has been growing, troubling anglers who seek this world-class trout and salmon fishery near Farmington. Efforts this spring to disrupt the fish from spawning using a first-time study failed, said state fisheries biologist Forrest Bonney. But Mother Nature created an experiment all her own that may provide data that would help biologists get a handle on how to control these predatory pests. "One of the things about bass they don't react well in (high) water levels before spawning and during spawning and after spawning," said Jeff Reardon, Trout Unlimited New England director. "I don't think anything in this year's result discouraged us. It confirmed what we already know: Bass are really sensitive.
Injured vets strong-arm the river
Bond - The trout rose and sipped a mayfly off the surface of the Colorado River. Joshua Williams caught the small disturbance on the water from the corner of his eye. Standing in a drift boat, he raised his fly rod and the trout rose again and gulped in the artificial fly on the end of the line. And suddenly, Williams was in trouble. He'd done this a hundred times before on the rivers and creeks around his home in Virginia, passionately throwing a fly at rising trout, holding the long rod in his right hand and gently stripping in the slack line with his left, a delicate two-handed operation. But on Friday, the baby-faced 22-year-old Army staff sergeant who spent a hellish year engaged in street combat in Iraq had a problem. He didn't have a right hand. The trout surged into the current.
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