Sunday, July 12, 2009

A stretch of river LVI: Of carp and blog posts

They once grew 'em kinda weird out here on the prairie. Children, too. Image found here, about which more later.

There's a fellow I see, oh, every couple of weeks or so, fishing off the Murdoch Street bridge in the mornings. I've seen him often enough, in fact, that we feel comfortable enough to exchange greetings. One morning, a while back, when he was busy landing a fish, I asked him what he was fishing for. "Catfish," he said, though what he'd caught right then was a large carp. Not good eating. He'd throw it back as soon as he landed it. When I asked him about how big the catfish get there by the bridge piers, he said, "Well, last year I caught one you could fit a half-gallon milk jug into its mouth." So, he keeps returning. Who wouldn't, after catching such a fish as that?

I've mentioned before that there are some pretty large fish in my little section of the Little Arkansas; they splash about in the mornings, catching insects and, on occasion, startling Scruffy and me when they're especially close to the shore. Those are the carp. Catfish, as you probably know, like nothing better than to lay on a river- or creekbottom, waiting for their food to drift by. It would figure, wouldn't it, that the fish that make the most noise are the ones least desirable.

As with fish, so with blog posts here of late. The regular visitor(s) has/have probably noticed that I've not posted in a while. No catfish, as it were; lots of carp splashing about that make me smile for a bit, but then I get to thinking about them and I say, Why trouble my reader(s) with THAT? But sometime last night or earlier this morning, someone left a pretty large carp along the path, and that made me think, Well, time to show folks my stringer, such as it is.

There are some nibbles, down there below the surface. Patience is required.

In the meantime, here are a couple of sites some of you might be interested in visiting:

Awful Library Books. In which a couple of librarians who work at a public library expound on the virtues of updating a collection. Librarian snark is also kinda fun, in an Inside Baseball sort of way.

Kansas Mediocrity--the source of the picture at the top of this post. It's brand new and so is still finding itself, but its lodestar is in its title . . . though I'd have to say that that picture is anything but mediocre.


kansasmediocrity said...

Thank you for the nice mention here.
I've been busy trying to get 'content'.
As I can see, mediocrity of inspiration is a common problem.


emawkc said...

Best not to take these kinds of things too seriously. Best just to put it out there and let the pescatarians determine for themselves what's edible. Otherwise you might never land anything.

kansasmediocrity said...

Now I'm starting on my collection of 100 year old postcards.
If you like the picture above you'll like them better.

Pam said...

Think of it as catch and release - or fly fishing on a Michigan river. It's the process, not the end result, that matters.

Or at least that's what I tell myself.

I hope you are having a nice summer!

jammer5 said...

Fishing and life . . . two endeavors made for each other. A distinct correlation between the conscious and the cerebral. It doesn't matter whether one fly fishes for golden trout, or power fishes for Black Marlin, it boils down to a unity between man and the elements.

I recall, while living here in Wichita eons ago, a man, living in the house behind us, walking down to his fishing spot on the Arkansas every day. He carried his pole, bait, and a half pint of his favorite lubricant. Always came back with no fish, but did catch a buzz.

But one day he came strolling down the sidewalk with an enormous catfish slung over his shoulder, and a grin from ear to ear. His first fish, and a forty pounder at that.

I sat down with him and asked about his catch. He told me he'd been fishing that way for over eight years, since his wife passed away, and wouldn't stop until he caught a fish. Some might call that fixated, but I prefer loyal to his wife's memory. I saw him two days latter and he was clean shaven and looking for work.

I lost touch with him, as we moved to California shortly after, but with his persistence, my guess is he's doing great. At least that's what I believe.