More than anything else fly fishing is about hope. The hope that the correct fly will be chosen, that the water will be read correctly, that the judgement about fording the river in this spot will end with being dry on the other side, especially on those 38-degree mornings, and dozens of other hopes. Some linked directly to hooking up with a fish and others merely with having a therapeutic day on the water. During this unequalled moment in our lifetimes I am thankful to be healthy, have loved ones be healthy and have my teaching job intact. I am also thankful for the rivers and forests and fields that surround them. Fly fishing and many outdoor pursuits, save in the most popular places, are respites during this pandemic. The places fly fishing, birding, hiking and canoeing take us are refuges. Mask-free refuges. Of course, those days spent with buddies or guides have been put on hold but those of us who are physically able to tramp up rivers solo can find peace during this time.
It was 8:45 AM on April 23rd and it was a morning filled with hope. One hope was that the sun would heat the water enough to jump start some trout and the hope that it would also heat my body enough to tie on a size 16 nymph and deliver some accurate casts to where fish might be holding. Jewels of ice clung to stream-side vegetation and just a few minutes spent wading in calf-deep water let me know I was alive. Surprisingly, a small stonefly adult landed on my hand as I adjusted my two-nymph rig. One of the nymphs was a stonefly which made me feel more in-the-know than I deserved to feel in that moment. But, I guess those little observations sometimes inform what we do. I decided to let the nymph swing a bit longer on the downstream to allow it to rise and appear to fish to be emerging. No takers; like I said, more in-the-know than I deserved. Every spring we venture out in the belief that this could be a season filled with moments of rising trout and exciting hook ups. More than anything else maybe it's time for us to appreciate more the solace our home waters can bring during a time of helplessness and uncertainty.
It was 8:45 AM on April 23rd and it was a morning filled with hope. One hope was that the sun would heat the water enough to jump start some trout and the hope that it would also heat my body enough to tie on a size 16 nymph and deliver some accurate casts to where fish might be holding. Jewels of ice clung to stream-side vegetation and just a few minutes spent wading in calf-deep water let me know I was alive. Surprisingly, a small stonefly adult landed on my hand as I adjusted my two-nymph rig. One of the nymphs was a stonefly which made me feel more in-the-know than I deserved to feel in that moment. But, I guess those little observations sometimes inform what we do. I decided to let the nymph swing a bit longer on the downstream to allow it to rise and appear to fish to be emerging. No takers; like I said, more in-the-know than I deserved. Every spring we venture out in the belief that this could be a season filled with moments of rising trout and exciting hook ups. More than anything else maybe it's time for us to appreciate more the solace our home waters can bring during a time of helplessness and uncertainty.
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