Go Fish

The other night in fading light and wearing fashionable hip waders, I found myself knee high in muck at the bottom of our recently drained pond, scooping up struggling trout and transferring them to a large plastic bin that Richard and I (and his visiting mom, Frieda) then drove down the road to our neighbors where we waddled the bin down to their pond and new freedom. A successful fish transfer. It was a harried affair, but we did feel better afterwards, having saved about 18 trout, good-sized ones too in the bunch.

We'd been trying to net them for about a week, but they proved elusive and quick. It's tough trying to communicate with fish and assure them that what you're doing is for their own good when it looks just like when you're trying to catch them and fry them up. However, they should know better since we always catch and release here. Dumb ole fish. The other night, though, I felt so sorry for them, their water supply having dwindled away, and now swimming in murky, muddy water. I wondered what their gills must've been like struggling to breathe in that soup. After dumping the 18, I returned to the pond, flashlight in hand, Richard's cars headlights focused down from the road, and tried to get a few more, but it was just too dark. That night it rained and the next morning the level of the pond had risen to a recent level above the old dented, graphite drain pipe put in 40 years ago. Harumph. But those fish remaining must've been in heaven with refortified water levels courtesy of both the sky and nearby springs. You Go Fish.

Plans for the pond? Scooping out that puppy, digging some silt ponds on the border of the pond proper where the water coming in can deposit its siltly gunk without filling up the larger body of water. Also, we hope to extend our lawn area over there and dry out the silt over the winter to be able to use it later as treated top soil in gardens and on lawns. Learning, learning.