Descriptive Essay : Mountain Guided Series Waders Is No Easy Chore

While other fishermen reel in boatloads of fish, the old man is lucky to feel so much as a tug on his line. He spends some time fishing with a young boy, but after months of bad luck, the boy’s parents no longer allow him to fish with the old man. It is for this reason that he decides to journey far out into the sea, aiming to catch a fish so huge it renders the other fishermen speechless. After venturing miles away from the course, the old man finally feels the pull of a large fish on his line; so large, in fact, that he does not have the strength to reel it in. However, he is determined to capture it no matter how long it takes, telling himself, “You better be fearless and confident yourself, old man” (Hemingway 84). He does his best to remain strong and optimistic throughout his time at sea. With much patience, he allows the marlin to guide his boat through the rippling waves of the ocean for days on end. When it finally tires out, he is able to kill it and reel it in, leaving an accumulation of blood in its place. Knowing this could mean trouble, he begins to head back to shore as quickly as possible, blood trailing behind him. To his dismay, despite his efforts to avoid them, the sharks sense the blood in the water and approach his boat. Each time a shark appears, he is eventually able to fight it off, but not before it can take a portion

Straight ahead of me, the river is calmly pushing a large piece of driftwood south along with the currents. There is a line of tall, green trees across the Mississippi river in Illinois. The sand bar over there is covered in brown rocks. The sand bar in front of me looks very similar. There are rocks and dirt, all the same light brown that makes me you feel like it hasn’t rained in years. Tall green grass lines the sides of the dirt path that I drive my four-wheeler down to the edge of the water. There a rock dyke that jolts out one third of the way into the water. This is to keep the rush of the water calm. Parked on the sandbar in front of me is a white Ford F150 and a black Mercury Milan. Three men and one woman accompany these vehicles. One man is walking down the dyke, while the others stay crowded around prepping their

It swirled against the log spiles of the bridge. Nick looked down into the clear, brown water, colored from the pebbly bottom and watched the trout keeping themselves steady in the current with wavering fins. As he watched them they changed their position by quick angles, only to hold steady in the fast water again. (Hemingway 177)

Steadily gaining line on this mysterious fish as the line begins to lose slack a sign that the fish is coming to the surface, I race against time to regain slack and keep tension on him. The bass breaks the surface as it propels itself into the air while shakings its bucket mouth vigorously desperately trying to shake the hook. It dives back down as I continue to crank down on the reel. The flash sun's me, the fish surfaces exhausted. I anxiously snatch my net and swoop underneath the bass. It hopelessly flops around desperately trying breath. I pin it down and surgically remove the hook that was lodged in the back of its throat. Carefully grasping the basses lip I lay it horizontally against the measuring tape, 17 ½ inches, a very healthy fish with a substan clay belly on it. I take a few actions shots blinding the fish with my flash, dunking its head underneath the water brings life rushing through its body as it vigorously propels himself back under meanwhile covering me with fish slime and mucky lake

The Smithton Sportsman's Club is one of the most beautiful places in Smithton, Illinois. Upon entering, it does not look like much, but as I pull up on the gravel road next to the first pavilion, the first lake becomes visible. Trucks rolling along the gravel road and singing frogs are the only sounds that I can hear. Large trees reflect perfectly off the still water. Occasionally a frog jumps in or a fish makes a splash: making the only movement in the water. Separating the first two lakes is a dam that allows me to walk across to the third lake. When standing on the bank, I look through the clear water and see small bluegill swimming around in search of food. As I walk towards the third lake I see trees perfectly lined up to make relaxing

It was a warm summer day in Bloomham. The birds were chirping, the sun was shining, and the sky was a deep blue. The thin wisps of cirrus clouds shone high above the backdrop of the Flemn Highlands and Herbert Conway Dam. The Crug river flowed smoothly down through Bloomham from the crystal clear Wyz lake. All this beauty would soon prove to become Bloomham’s biggest enemy.

Do you ever have a dream where you’re falling, and it feels so real that your body wakes you up? Well this was not a dream. I was falling, and there was no bed for me to wake up in.

The river plunges down weathered rock dotted with copses of juniper, sycamore, oak, and manzanita. Crags soar on each side of the canyon, funneling the river’s flow over falls and delta-like redirections among interspersed jagged and polished rock beds. My daughters alternate between rushing ahead and falling behind as we hike the two miles to the destination falls and its accompanying pool of crystal water. The river itself alternates between barely shoe depth trickles, raging, frothy falls, and deep, crisp, and clear swimming holes that seem to be hollowed out of the living rock for the express purpose of completely immersing one’s

Jacob pulls his boat onto the shore and struggles to hold the tackle box, rod and the trout he's caught, but still manages to carry them up the hill to his house. As he walks, he talks to the trout.

I am amazed by the power that this fish exerts, for me it seems like this fight isn’t going to stop. Then there is the turning point when one of the opponents starts to win and that is me. The fish is tiring my line keeps coming in now when I real instead of going out. The excitement of getting it to the beach is almost unbearable. Its back breaks the surface it is close the shore now I can see it. My dad grabs the net and runs out to get it. I drag it up a little closer and then my dad scoops it up. The fish is caught my excitement insurmountable at the

While sitting in the deer stand viewing the sun peaking over the horizon. One noticed there was some movement at the deer feeder. I knew then my baiting had worked. As the sun raised in the sky I could finally see what was in my foreseeable trap because during this time it was rut season and at my feeder were three small doe as time went on I could see a big dark shadow behind the tree line that was directly behind my feeder and at it was a buck. The doe’s had done their job and attracted a nice sized buck to my feeder. Once I counted the points and knew he was above the legal limit of eight points my hear t began to race if I drank ten red bulls that mourning. My mind and body started to work against me when I developed buck fever. As I tried

From the Riverside Park in Easton, PA, the Delaware River looks serene and uninhabited. There are lots of trees around; the water is flowing gently. I see a few ducks swimming in the water and some birds flying overhead. I listen to the sounds: the birds chirping, the water flowing, the wind blowing, and then I hear the cars passing by on the road nearby. I look up and am suddenly reminded that I am not alone with nature. Still, the only indications of human civilization are the two bridges, the road, and the scattering of buildings on the other side. Despite the natural scape being surrounded by human development, it still looked peaceful and harmless. One would have never guessed that this seemingly innocuous waterscape was once the source

The Salinas River was green with the aroma of sweet sickles filling the air. Lennie sat hiding in a bush unable to speak, trying to make sense of what had just happened to him. He heard the faint shouts of men far off in the woods. Despite the tragedy, it was peaceful. The river was glistening with the soft reflection on the setting sun. Various animals took refuge among the pool. Two swans came floating down the pool, weaving a pompous dance. They continued down the river.

Deep in the mountains in the southwest corner of North Carolina is a river unlike any other. Halfway through my perilous rafting journey, there was a moment when time stood still. I witnessed a natural phenomenon which displayed the beauty of nature at its finest. During that moment, I realized the insignificance of humanity, and why we should respect the overwhelming power of nature.

Entering at Cades Cove, I hiked down the narrow muddy trail through the forest listening for the sounds of rushing water. The cold crystal-clear water flowed effortlessly over the smooth rocks and the air was quite refreshing. Carefully, I made my way down stream watching my footing, while admiring the spectacular scenery. The remoteness of the area provided solitude and the quiet stillness was relaxing. As the sun-beamed overhead, I caught a glimpse of a large dark fish with a light-yellow back and light spots, a brook trout. Moving about I cast my line in the distance and was patient as the brilliant rainbow trout with it silvery sides, bluish green backs, black spots, and bright pink bands shined in the sun’s rays. I lost track of time in the peaceful environment, and after several hours, I had my quota of five trout over seven inches, a successful day for any angler. Then, I headed to the campsite to freshen up and then hurried off for horseback riding at Sugarland Riding