Fishing in Fresno!

Something from the tackle box:

       The right word at the right time is like precious gold set in silver.  Listening to good advice is worth much more than jewelry made of gold.  (Proverbs 25:11-12 CEV)

       This past month my wife and I flew to California to spend a few days with our oldest son, Zachary.  We hadn’t seen him, face to face, in over a year, so it was time. 

       Zac lives in the city of Fresno and works as a geologist for the Water Quality Division of the State’s Environmental Protection Agency.  Fresno is California’s largest city not located on the Pacific coast.  It sits in the Central Valley, the agricultural heartland of the state, a place where the state’s water shortage problems are the most acerbated and acutely felt.  His job entails trying to manage that problem with some semblance of fairness and sanity towards everyone involved, farmers and residents alike.  It’s a hard and thankless job. 

     From Fresno, the Sierra-Nevada Mountains are off to the northeast, with some good freshwater fishing opportunities there.  Nice trout streams and such.  The Pacific Ocean is off to the west, with some good saltwater fishing to be had all along the coast.  But the farmland and towns of the Central Valley don’t have a whole lot to offer the angling enthusiast.  There isn’t a whole lot of unclaimed open water just sitting around waiting for recreational use in this water thirsty region.  And certainly not much at all right in the city of Fresno!

       But – there is a little bit!

       There is an oasis of green on the north side of Fresno called Woodward Park, three hundred acres of pavilions, picnic areas, BMX courses, hiking trails, concert venues, manicured gardens, a wild bird sanctuary, and a series of small interconnected fishing ponds. – Yes! – Fishing ponds! – If I had known, I would have brought some tackle. – But I didn’t know. 

       Our trip to Woodward Park came on the afternoon of our first full day visiting with our son.  We had spent the morning on a car tour of the orchards and vineyards to the north and west of town.  I had seen what seemed like endless cornfields in Nebraska, but had imagined that California vineyards would have been organized on a somewhat smaller scale than that.  The ones I saw were not.  It was impressive.  In some places it was grapevines and fruit trees stretching off to the horizon just as far as the eye could see.  The grapes were all pruned back, but the fruit trees were in a late February full bloom.  It was beautiful.

       Anyway, after several hours of riding in the car and gawking at endless rows of trees full of blossoms, Zac’s mom and I wanted to stretch our legs.  So, after arriving back in town, the son suggested we go for a hike through the bird sanctuary at a place called Woodward Park, on the north edge of Fresno.  It sounded like a good idea to mom and I, - and it was!

       After walking for an hour through the hundred acres or so of relatively unimproved land, full of native songbirds, we headed back through the more “manicured” part of the park to find our car in the parking lot.  It was trekking through this part of the park that I first saw the chain of several small, connected ponds, each less than a football field in size.  And around each of them, as well as the channels that tied the ponds together, were people, quite a few of them, fishing! – I was fascinated!

       I saw all kinds of fishing techniques being used by all sorts of people.  There were old people and young people fishing.  There were Blacks, Whites, Hispanics and Orientals fishing.  I saw people casting spinners and crank baits.  I saw quite a few people throwing out hooks with worms hung under red and white plastic bobbers.  I even saw one young fellow, an obvious neophyte, tentatively trying to work a new brand new fly rod.  People were fishing in lawn-chairs, sitting on beach towels, standing along shore, or on rocks to get a little elevation.  People were fishing off the small walking bridges that crossed the channels.  Dozens and dozens of people were gathered around those ponds, all with a line in the water.  Naturally, I told Zac and his mom to go on ahead, I would catch up.  I wanted to watch for a while, take some pictures, and maybe talk with a few of my fellow enthusiasts. 

       I did watch from a distance for a short while, and what I noticed was that, despite the goodly number of anglers gathered around the ponds, - nobody was catching any fish, – or at least none that I could see. – Which made me wonder just what it was they were after, fish-wise.  Not that this is the central point of fishing for me, personally, or for them.  I assumed that some in the throng would be as aware of the sentiment behind author Henry David Thoreau’s famous observation that “Many men go fishing all of their lives without knowing that it is not fish they are after.”  

catching a lot of nothing

       I also realized that most of them would not be aware of that sentiment.  Most fishermen, anywhere you might find them, are not aware of it.  That's what makes Thoreau's statement so acute.  But, that being said, it is also true that to really be fishing, there has to be at least the possibility of actually catching a fish!  And so, assuming that these people really were fishing, I approached a youngish looking man, who appeared to be fishing along with his two sons, each equipped with what looked like a brand new Zebco, ‘everything you need to start  catching fish' rig, to see what they were after. 

       “Hi,” I said, “I’m a fisherman visiting from Michigan.  I'm here at this park for the first time with my son, who lives here in Fresno.  What is it everyone is hoping to catch in this pond?”

       The dad just stared at his bobber and didn’t say anything.  After a pause, one of the boys replied, “Whatever’s in here, - I guess.” 

       “Well, - - - OK then. - - Good luck. - - I hope you get some of whatever’s in there – I guess.”

Koi pond in the Japanese garden

       As I headed over to the next pond in the chain, I looked into the water of this heavily fished pond, where no one seemed to be catching anything.  It seemed awfully murky to me.  I wondered if there was anything in there to catch for all the folks that were trying.  I had seen a lot of Koi over in the pond that was part of the Oriental garden section of the park.  The water was much cleaner over there, and many people were watching the fish, but that pond had also been heavily posted, “No Fishing, - under any circumstances, - EVER!”  I could understand.  Those Koi were for looking at, not catching, and that needed to be clearly understood by everyone.  But here, where people obviously could and did fish, the water seemed pretty, - well, - dead. 

a path worn smooth by fishermen

       I followed the chain of ponds to the last open water, located right next to the parking lot where Zac and Kathy were already waiting for me at the car.   This little mini-lake was a less manicured affair, with more brush and scrub trees around it, and much less tramped down by fisherman traffic. 

       There were only a few people fishing at this last link in the chain of park ponds, a few at the mouth of the channel bringing water in from the other ponds, and one lone fellow hunkered down in the brush at the far end – away from everyone else.  He was dressed in earth-tones and a hoodie that blended well into the brush he was nestled in.  He had a little stool he was sitting on, and a bucket beside the stool.  His rod was laying on the ground beside him, not in his hands for people to see, the tip out over the water, hovering just a few inches above the surface.  It was obvious to me that he was being as inconspicuously nondescript as he could possibly be. – Now here was a fisherman! 

       I made my way over the rougher ground and cover to where this fellow was sitting.  He eyed me a bit suspiciously at first, but I hoped that my smile, and my cap with a big jumping trout embroidered on the front of it, would show him that I just wanted to talk fishing.  

       “Hey there.  My name’s Mark.  I’m visiting from out of state and came to see the park with my son who lives here.  I love to fish, and saw everyone around all the ponds fishing, and I just wanted to know what you hope to catch in here.  It doesn’t seem like anyone is doing very well, - that I can see.”

       “No.  Most people come for a day and then never come back, - cuz they don’t catch nothing much of anything.”  

       “Yeah, - well, - it look to me like you come here a lot. – Which tells me that you DO catch something much of anything, - now and then!”

       My new fishing buddy chuckles.  “They stock these ponds with trout.  And you can catch them – IF you know what you’re doing – which most people don’t.” 

       “I have a feeling that you do.  Have you had any luck today?”

       Another smile – and a pause – a nod of the head – and in a very low tone,  “I have a couple on my stringer right now.” 

       “Could I see, - and take a picture of you with them?!”

Michael and his trout

       Another pause – another smile, - “Sure.”

       “What’s your name?”

       “Michael.” 

       “Wow!  Those are two nice fish, Michael.  What do you get them on?”

       “I use a chunk of homemade stink-bait that my grandpa taught me how to mix up.  I just put it on a small hook and lay it on the bottom.  Sooner or later they find it.”
       “I’ve caught suckers and catfish like that in Michigan, but I’ve never heard of catching trout that way!  But then, - what do I know? – It sure looks like it works good for you!  Boy I’d love to stay and watch you catch another one, but the son and wife are waiting for me at the car.  Thanks for making my day, Michael.” 

       “You’re welcome.”

       “Take care, and I hope you have more good luck.”

       “Thanks. – You too.” 

Something to take home in your creel:

       There are times when you want to fish were everyone else is fishing.  Those times are when you see everyone else catching fish.  But when everyone else is fishing – and not catching fish – look for the fellow who’s trying his hardest not to be noticed – and then, very politely, - and very, very discreetly, - go and see what’s going on with him!