Closer to home

The Joy of the outdoors doesn't have to be miles away

"Geoff, let's go fishing." I crooned over the phone.

"I'd love to," he woefully replied, "But, it's

Wednesday; I don't have time."

"You don't have an hour to go fishing?"

"You have a place close by?" his tone picking up a little.

"Meet me at my house."

Sometimes when you get a thought in your head, you have to exercise that thought just to get on with other things in life. The "itchin' to go fishin'" had been swirling in my head ever since recovering from a bout of sun-sickness (from the last time I went fishing.) Modern day schedules don't allow normal working people oodles of time to plan or to act on the needs of the subconscious. Luckily, there is usually a place to exercise your favorite outdoor activity close to your home. Whether you live in the outskirts or deep in the heart of the city, when you look close there is ample room to play in the great outdoors.

Geo and I picked White Rock: an obvious choice when you look at a map of Dallas, if you look closer; though, without a map, you can find a fishing jewel just about anywhere in the city. Driving home from shooting a bird's nest photograph (see page 2) at the Crescent Hotel in Dallas, I saw John Crone pull a bream out of the water. He was fishing right next to the high-rise apartments on Turtle Creek. When asked if this was the best spot, he replied, "No, not really, but it sure is a short walk."

I agreed and continued my ride down Turtle Creek Dr. looking at every inch of creekside in a renewed fishy way.

Years ago, before I knew the joy of owning a car and driving miles to go fishing, I had to walk to fish. That placed one "fishery" within my reach: Turtle Creek. Afternoons after school, and some mornings before, were spent trudging down the hill to spend a little time staring into the water trying to fish something out.

As a child, my true fishing experience was trout fishing in Colorado. I couldn't get enough of it. I compensated for not being in Colorado by heading to Turtle Creek. Later in life, I learned that North Texas is simply choked full of different kinds of fishing for all different kinds of fish. But having fished for trophy fish all over the continent, I still get a hankering to head down to the little hole near my house and stretch a line.-

It's not that the fishing close to home is better than during a big adventure on a big lake. That is certainly not the case (although several five-pounders have been pulled from a lake at a certain apartment complex near my house.) But in the city the joy of fishing can be experienced in just as great a way in a short amount of time.

Matthew Blaylock of Dallas, and I love to fly fish. Just working the rod, making the fly go where we want, and watching it go where it wants sometimes, are deep wells of joy for both of us. On some afternoons, because my house is on his way home from work, I will hear a knock at my door.

"Let's hit it, I want to feel some tug."

When I hear this, it means Matthew wants to catch some carp. I know most "big-bass sportsman types" will scoff at catchin' carp, but they pack quite a wallop when they are attached to the end of your fly rod. They are so close too. Most all of the city parks have carp and other fish in them.

A tiny deer-hair popper that looks like a chunk of bread, or a white/brown lambs wool pancake that looks the same, will bring a smile to any angler's face usually within minutes of their house.

Matthew and I use a park that is halfway between his house and mine. It works out to be the best spot for us. There just happens to be some 10-pound carp there too. We work them up with a little bread and then the fishing starts. The bites aren't automatic. It took a while to find the right fly pattern to make them bite. Storing the flies in a plastic bag with some bread will make them smell and that doesn't hurt your chances either. When they get real finicky, we just mash a little bread around a hook and it is good for a couple of casts. But we rib each other.

I ended the conversation and started loading the boat. White Rock Lake here we come.

"That's cheating! Pitiful, can't even catch a carp with a fly."

Finding the perfect place to fish isn't easy; it never is. People who know where the good spots are tend to be a little reluctant to release that information. A honey-hole inside the city limits is even tougher to pry out of an avid angler. The reason being, there isn't an endless supply of prime spots, and one wordy leak can place a good spot on the long list of overcrowded fishing holes. When more of an adventure is needed, the city does offer some big water. Dallas is fortunate to have Lake Ray Hubbard, Lake Lavon, Lake Lewisville, Joe Pool Lake and several other smaller ones like White Rock to quench the big water woes. Bank access to these lakes is easy. Each one has parks and special areas designed for quick and easy access.

With years of searching, or one lucky stumble, you can find an angling paradise that is close to home and offers big water opportunity. One such hole at Ray Hubbard was the perfect place for four of us to spend one last time together before Sean Rowland's work transferred him out of state. Schedules prevented us from doing the last trip with a big trip to Lake Fork, so we had to settle on "one last day at the hole."

Fish were actually one of the farthest things from our minds; we were there to enjoy the fishy company one more time. The hole had been invaded by gar and the fishing was terrible. We still had fun. We still laughed.

Yeah, we could have sat around a bar and talked about the same things, but deep down inside I don't think we would have laughed quite as loud or felt as good as we did when we left. There is something about being there and doing it that makes a big trip to a big lake or even a quick trip to a not-so-good spot all that more special. I guess that is the difference between fishing and telling fish stories ­ one is living the experience and the other is wishing you were doing it again.

Like the trip Geo and I finally took to White Rock after the rain: we caught only one feisty catfish at the end. We didn't even have any bait, except for a little beef jerky (which the catfish ate immediately), but we still had a good time. And, we were fishing instead of sitting on the couch talking about fishing. If you measure your experiences in smiles on the water and memories in time instead miles on the road and pounds in the boat, you will find that fishing inside the city is a wonderful addition to your outdoor escapades.