Today I left the Terrors with Mom and made my way to South Bend for some fly fishing.
Okay, okay…you can stop laughing.
Earlier in the year, when I had no idea I would be taking the DH’s slot on the Groover, I spent an afternoon at the Outdoor Show trying to find a trip for me this year. After a day of going through a stack of pamphlets and brochures I decided on a guide that worked the rivers in and around South Bend. True, it’s no Honduras, but I figured I could day-trip it from Chicago. Any fishing is better than no fishing, and I would guarantee that I would at least hold a fly rod this year.
After one reschedule and one me totally blowing it and forgetting the date, I knew, at least, that my guide had patience aplenty. Whether or not he was a serial killer was still up for grabs, but patient was in the bag. Anyone who has had the “pleasure” of fishing with me knows that it’s the only way to live through it.
After some baffling directions from the world’s worst GPS, I outsmarted the devil device and made my way to the meeting point. You might think I’d know my way around South Bend seeing as how I went to school there for four years, but you would be WRONG. I rarely left SMC’s protective bubble unless there were some boys throwing a football at the other end. Dare me to find the townhouse complex I lived in senior year, it’s easy money. My mad navigation skills didn’t develop until later.
But I digress. I secured an Indiana fishing license and we headed down to the river. The boys from the Groover will be startled to learn I didn’t bring a single diet Coke with me.
We screamed upriver and Dustan, the Wonder Guide, parked us right in the middle of downtown South Bend. I have to admit getting a little nervous at this point, but the weather was beautiful and the Terrors were an hour away. What did I have to lose?
To my surprise I started getting hits right away. If my muscles weren’t on an infuriating two-second delay I would have had a fish lickedy-split. Even with the delay I landed my first fish pretty quickly. It was small and not bass-shaped, but at least I wouldn’t go home skunked.
We worked up and down the river, talking about fishing (he also guides in Montana, near one of the DH’s favorite spots), and sports (he’s a Sox fan, boo) and the usual bullshit people talk about while fishing. I caught a ton of Smallmouth bass, two of impressive size. The big one got away, but there were plenty of Rock Bass thrown in to keep things interesting. While it wasn’t the kind of top-water fishing I crave, I thoroughly enjoyed the experience. I was told that the Steelhead fishing out that way is pretty great. I might just pop down and see if it’s true.
If you find yourself in desperate need of a day trip fishing getaway, give Dustan a call. You could tell him I referred you, but that might not work in your favor. I leave that up to you.
I came off the river and once again got lost using my GPS. Eventually I stumbled upon the SMC campus and made my way to the student center. I took some money out of the ATM for old-time’s sake and took a turn through the bookstore. The campus looked all primed and ready, and I learned that the dorms open tomorrow. I grabbed a hoodie just to aggravate my good friend who hates my hoodies (you know who you are) and an alumae license plate frame to replace the one that got mangled. It was an unusually successful trip, considering I usually show up a half hour after they close.
I made it back to the lake just in time for a pizza dinner with my exhausted mother and the Terrors.
Good times. Good times.