Ploop

 A grey squirrel sits on the branch of a mulberry tree, stuffing its face with almost-ripe fruit. The oblong white berries are just starting to get the brushed-on red tint look that means they're ready for the taking. The squirrel haphazardly plucks them from the small clusters they grow in, losing some now and then. Each berry falls, bouncing off branches and tumbling as they go. The tree would have it that these berries land on dry ground where some other animal might find them and spread the seeds to areas not already thickly canopied. But this tree loses some of its potential offspring each season, because this tree happens to grow over water. Each mis-picked berry, dropped by a squirrel, grackle, sparrow, or starling, falls to the water below with a distinct "ploop". And there it is met by hungry fish. Cyprinus carpio, as foreign to the landscape as the starling above, gather en masse under each mulberry tree and greedily feed on the sweet fruits each berry season. They have grown so familiar to that "ploop" sound that, even when one is far way from one of the trees and the berry fall is long done, they still frequently come to inspect anything that lands in the water in such a manor. 

The well rounded and observant fly angler will learn to predict such events. Food drives fish and when such abundance of calories- one which exceeds normal standards but isn't so high as to drive down competition -the angler can have not only excellent fishing but striking opportunities to watch wildlife interact. On this day, the angler sat poised below the mulberry tree looking up into its branches rather than down into the water. The squirrel busily worked in the foliage, and eventually knocked another berry free. The angler's gaze followed its indirect path to the water. It bounced off of one twig, knocked a leaf, then fell to the water's calmly rolling surface. Two shadows rushed to the berry's sound, creating wakes in their rush to obtain sustenance. Neither one actually found the berry, which was then slowly sinking to be battered about by bluegills before resting on the bottom. One of the carp mouthed at a peice of flower peddle but found it lacking. 

The angler observed not because he didn't want to catch a fish yet, but simply because he felt no pressure to. He'd stood in this spot before, watching the same show. He knew what would happen when he pulled line from his reel, made his cast, and let his spun deer hair fly land with a "ploop". He was in no rush. That would only lessen the amount of activity he saw before him now and there was no need to disrupt it just yet. He'd watched this show, sure. But he was far from tired of it. He was content to remain a passive viewer for a few more moments. 

When the desire to interact with the carp in front of him finally overruled his enjoyment of their un-bothered feeding, he wet his fly in the water at his feet. This would give it the weight to convincingly approximate the sound of impact as well as the buoyancy of the natural berries. They don't float high and dry as a foam fly or completely dry deer hair fly would. Then, with a sharp flick, he delivered his artificial lure underneath the mulberry tree. A chestnut colored mirror carp rushed to it, needing to beat out the competitors lurking nearby. It was completely and utterly duped, slurping down the berry with no sign of apprehension. The angler raised the rod and in time made work of taming the specimen. It was a lovely creature. The fly was removed and the fish returned to its habitat a lot more weary than it had been before. Indeed the battle had made aware the other carp as well, and only two remained near the tree. Their actions were flighty and quick though, and the angler felt it prudent to call it a day. Though he'd enjoy catching another, he knew he could so elsewhere thereby allowing these fish to return to their natural rhythm. There was no sense in not only making the fishing harder for himself down the line by over-educating these already clever fish, nor did he feel making their capture harder for the next angler down the path was a kind thing to do to a fellow watcher of the interplay of berries and animals. Whistling as he went down the path, the angler thought about "ploop" sounds, clumsy squirrels, and hungry carp. 

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