Saturday, March 5, 2011
Where I belong
Passion. It's a white hot fire when present or a bitter tasting course bitch when absent, or charged against you. I have not truly enjoyed a day with a rod in my hand in a very long time.
A moment of personal calm ignites, suppressed by the turbulence in my life. The river invited me yesterday, and I responded with vaguely familiar enthusiasm blunted by the passage of time.
Mild temperatures, clear water, slow current, a little cloud cover, and a few blue wing olives hatching signal a change in season.
The river was generous, yet at the same time required effort and concentration. Picking my way through boulders, moving from one hole to the next, I settle over a finicky hen for a stretch who tests the limits of my midge box. Finally, a subtle take and a gentle lift. She came with willing agreement to the net.
A while later, waiting on the sun to clear a canyon wall, I stumble across a foam slick swirling in a back eddy. Waiting for the lights to come on, I notice a few noses poking through the surface film. I rig an emerger and fool an angry snit on a greased line with a wet fly fished just below the film. The first surface take of the year. Things are looking up. It's good to be fishing again.