I haven’t been able to get to the streams because of weather and working, but I hope to soon. Meanwhile, Anthony Naples over at Castingaround.com has been busy putting together a little piece of collected works. Some of my poems and pictures are included in this project.
Thanks Anthony for your work and dedication to the project.
Here is a pdf file of his project:
I drove my daughter to school in my waders. It wasn’t the first time, but she kept saying, “That’s weird”. She’s almost 10, but I wasn’t going to let that wreck my day. Today, the sun was out and it was just at freezing when I left for the river. I was pretty sure that today would be the first good day for fly fishing.
I was going to fish the deep pools and soak up all the sun I could. The river was very clear and stealth was a priority.
I caught eight brown trout, but the largest was only 12 inches.
In one section of the river I found a completely submerged dead fox. It was trapped between some boulders just off the faster current. Often in late winter/ early spring, I find the remains of animals that perished somehow through the winter. The body of this fox was almost in perfect condition.
As I was finishing up my morning of fishing, I saw a cross country skier who had a fly rod strapped to his back. He was heading deep into the woods, but he was the only other person out there today. It felt more like a normal day of trout fishing.
A small stream with very few pools to fish.
With the threat of a new snow storm coming, I decided that I had to get to the river while I could. I knew that I would have about two free hours and I was going to make the most of it. I raced through all my domestic duties. I got the kids up and ready, took them to school, swam laps for some exercise, gave the house a quick once over, and then started to get ready.
My waders and boots were in the garage from my last excursion, and now I found that the boots were frozen solid. I was forced to de-thaw them in the kitchen sink, but otherwise I got ready in just a few minutes.
After parking my car and climbing over the four feet of snow at the side of the road, I made my way down to the river. I was in such a hurry that I hadn’t noticed that it was mostly iced over until I was at it’s side. I stood with a dropped jaw and stared. Was it fishable? Should I even try? After observing for a bit, I notice that most of the pools were open, but the other 85-90% of the river was iced over. I decided to give it a try.
The air temperature was slightly warmer, but the water was definitely colder. I began casting in the first pool, and I was forced to move on when my line got stuck on the ice. I made my way along the shore as much as I could to the next pool, but at times I was forced to enter the river and break up the ice. It was slow moving through the ice. I fished about three pools before I gave up. I decided to head up stream where I was sure that the water would be open.
I arrived at the site of my video “Breaking Down the Door of Cabin Fever“. I saw that the water was open, so I gave it a try. Using my 12’ Iwana would be tricky here, but not impossible. I also knew that I would have maybe one or two casts per pool before the pool was shutdown. I tied on a size 16 sakasa kebari fly and crept towards the first pool.
A small brown trout.
I casted into the first pool and brought my rod up for line control- nothing. The second cast was better placed and almost immediately there was a bend in my rod. It was my first fish of the season- a little brown trout. I fished each pool for a while before creeping and crawling to the next one. There were five pools total that were fishable, but I only caught one trout.
I headed home. I quickly shed all my gear and moved the laundry from the washer to the drier. I gulped down some leftover pad thai and relaxed. I felt satisfied that I caught my first trout for the year, but the next step would be to get some better weather. Of course that is out of my control.
Your Life As a River
Imagine your life as a river
You begin of the earth
Pouring out of the ground from a spring
You are born
You are untouched and unpolluted
You begin to flow and travel the course before you
Slowly everything adds to you
The pebbles, dirt, and roots that you slowly wash over and touch
In good ways and bad
Your spirit increases as others flow into you
And life swims in you and moves outside of you
And you nourish all those things too
You get older and change the landscape of the world
At times your spirit is slack
And at others times your spirit rages with swelling flows from the storms in your life
Eventually the river’s rage slowly tapers off
But your path is altered
Changed from your swollen rage
But it always keeps moving on
Your life just is
Life is always moving on
Don’t work too hard to be
You just are
Dams will always be thrown up in your path
Bridges will be built to bypass you
Your flow will converge with other flows
This is your life
And your spirit
And you know that it will end some day
Your life will be full of so many things
But your life will keep flowing forward
And in the distance, there will be the great sea
It is here that your spirit will flow out and mix with all the other great spirits
Your current will end
But then you will be everywhere
Reflections in the river.
The river has been unburden to man’s predation for months, and today I tried waking it from that slumber. It was the opening day of the catch and release inland trout season, and the world was covered in deep unmarked snow and a heavy cold.
I was very over dressed in long underwear, multiple pairs of socks, a fleece hood and hat, my fishing gear, neoprene waders, and a backpack with extras- in case the wet or cold got the better of me. Overall, I was warm enough. My feet were cold only a few times, but my hands worked overtime to help keep my line and fly free of ice. At one point my fly was encased in a nickel size piece of ice. Another time, my Tenkara level line froze to my boot, and it had to be forcefully removed. It was definitely cold.
I saw a few fish, but the day lacked the pleasure of any hook ups. It was a day for getting the rust off and for working through the mechanical problems of all the ice. I expended a lot of energy, and I think most people would have given up and gone home.
I did set up my camera under water, but after reviewing the footage, it showed how much the camera was under siege and bombardment from all the icy objects caught in the river’s current.
The conditions were not ideal in any way, but it still was just great to get out. Hopefully, warmer weather is on its way to show us some signs of spring and some better fishing.
Remember the joy of being a child and opening that one Christmas present with the toy you really wanted. Some kids go hysterical, some start crying, and some just freeze up. I remember that joy and I have seen that same emotion in my own kids.
“Look Dad, I got the BATMOBILE. THE BATMOBILE. I can’t believe it. I got the BATMOBILE,” from my son.
“I’ll never ever throw it away. Not ever ever. I‘ll keep it forever. When I‘m old and gray, I still have it forever,” from my daughter.
I think as adults, we get a similar joy when we see a UPS or FedEx box that we know we ordered. You know what’s in the box, but deep inside that excitement still comes to the surface. When you know that box contains new gear, SOMEBODY GET ME A BOX CUTTER NOW! Maybe that’s a bit of an exaggeration, but in adult terms, that’s as good as it gets.
The hard part of getting something new is when you can’t use it. You’re forced to look at it over and over, and maybe imagine using it. If there was a way to use it, you would. I’ve seen videos of people fly casting in their backyard in snowdrifts to just try out their new rod. If you have no way to try it out, it’s torture. Right now, my workshop is filled with that new gear smell. Not just stuff I purchased, but gear I made or constructed. It’s bringing me to a new low.
I walk into my workshop and turn on all the lights. I look around at my bags, my rods, my nets, all my fly tying stuff, my fly boxes, and my vice…I just stand there staring at my vice like some kind of zombie. I want to tie some more flies, but I just can’t get myself to do it. The inner conflict goes back and forth. Should I make one more? Then I think maybe I have too many flies already, so I just can’t do it. Shutting off all the lights in my workshop, I shamble out in my zombie form- leaving the new gear smell behind me.
I think fly tying is supposed to ease the pain of not being able to fish, and it did for a while. Now I need something else to fill that void. Thank goodness that there are only five more days until the catch and release trout season opens in Wisconsin.
Before we got married, I warned my wife about two things. We would never be rich, and being married to me, our lives would never be completely normal. She married me anyway.
With the early catch and release trout season just over a week away, 90 percent of everything I’m saying and thinking is about fly fishing. The one person who is super patient and listens to my endless froth is her. I’ll grab her attention for redundant videos of people catching fish on youtube or for her to listen about something I read or saw. It’s always something fly fishing related and always something that I need to share. Maybe I’m worse then the kids in trying to grab her attention.
Many years back just after we were married, I got her to try fly fishing with me on a small stream, but it was only just that once. Over the years she’s heard enough about all aspects of the sport to be an expert. Maybe she is. If I took her out now, maybe she would be an amazing fly fisher.
I’m lucky that she puts up with me, but I did my research before hand. When we were first dating, we took a trip to large marsh in the area, and we rented a canoe. After rowing far from our starting point, I started to slightly rock the canoe. She warned me to stop, but I brushed it off and said, “That we weren’t going to tip“. Of course, I had to rock it harder then, and that’s when the canoe went over.
There was the “Oh #%*@!, “ and then the hitting the water. I saw my Coke can go under the surface with me in the tea colored water. The water was cold and a big shock to both of us, and we both gasped for air at the surface. Then, I saw her scrambling to get on the over-turned canoe, but with no success. I told her she could stand up, and with a shocked look, she stood up. It was at the moment that I made my careful assessment. Is she going to kill me or what? I carefully looked over her way, and there was no fire in her eyes. She looked at me and laughed.
I wouldn’t recommend planning something like this, but I’m glad that it happened. You can tell a lot about a person in a moment of crisis, and this was one of the many signals that my wife was a keeper. Somehow I reeled her in, and somehow she has stuck by me. I’m a lucky man, but I still need to get her out on the stream some day.
