As I write, birds are chirping outside the window. The air is still cold and the truck doors were frozen shut this morning when I went out to crank it before taking the kids to school. Yesterday’s rains and last nights temps, left a glaze over the trees, bridges, and random items left in the yard by my girls. It’s still winter early in the morning, but spring is breaking through in the afternoons. For the past week blue quills, blue winged olives, quill gordons, and early brown stones have been hatching in the forest.
If there is one thing in the sport of fly fishing that we all struggle with, it is the cast. Even those of us who have dedicated an immense amount of time wasted in the study of a fly rod and the cast, and through that dedication and waste of time have been able to obtain the level of “proficient;” still find ourselves lacking in certain situations. One can literally be “at one” with a river and its moods and fluctuations, know the insects down to the microscopic level of dead languages, understand currents and feeding lies vs. resting lies, at the vice be so talented an artist that there is risk of reaching up with the razor sharp hair scissors and lopping off an ear; and still if one cannot reach the fish with a proper cast the result will be naught.
It started with a light rain that quickly turned to pellets of ice. The initial excitement and anxiety of an expected snowstorm dwindled almost immediately at the sight of the little pellets of ice. It was a reminder that while the Pisgah mountains are grand and tall, they are also still very much in the south.
A change of pace here on “The Vent.” Instead of pseudo intellectual dark prose Ive decided to keep things light and do a “How To” article for those wishing to spend less time vertical while fishing. Lets be honest, who doesn’t want to go for a swim and cool off every now and then? And if you are going to do that, why not spice it up a bit and add in the element of surprise. Choosing to get wet is a boring and vanilla experience better left to those who enjoy extended anticipation. For me there is nothing like the feeling of panic and helplessness at the moment you realize you are going down, and all the possibility of injury and death flash in your minds eye just before the physical shock of hitting ice cold water. There are few simple steps you can can take while out on the river to ensure that you too can share in this time honored ritual.
Now is the in-between time. It’s no longer really summer but fall is not yet here. The fishing is as good as it’s been all year, but for me at least, it’s like a good bowl of tobacco in a favorite pipe. It started off well, full of potential and excitement. There were a few hiccups along the way, a little burble in the shank, probably due to the moisture that has stoved into the hills for what seems like weeks on end, and has had a soggy effect on the fishing too. The mid point was strong, tasty and full of moments of pleasure. A few times I was greedy and puffed harder, trying to demand more from the sweet smoky leaf, and as always, I got bit. Now near the end my tongue has grown weary, and the flavors, while still present, have fallen victim to my own fatigue. I’m going through the motions, only occasionally surprised by some level of texture rather than taste.
Ive been asked by the wife to go out for drinks and dinner with another couple. The wives are hoping that the men will find something they can connect on, like one another’s company, have something or someone in common, and develop a meaningful and lasting relationship that will blossom into double dates, family outings, maybe even extended vacations together.
