PART ONE

I finally spent time getting the garden in. After being so responsible I definitely needed to take a break and head out fishing. I head out around 3. Conventional wisdom would say that would not be the best time to fish on a cloudless day with the temperature approaching 80º. I checked stream temps online and see that they are just at 60º. Anything much over that and the trout will be stressed. It will be a good day to try the hip boots that leak because its so warm. Even though I fish most everyday, I’m still excited as I drive through the township on the way to the creek. People ask if, since I do fish everyday, I get tired of trout fishing. I always respond that on each trip I can honestly say “there’s something I’ve never seen before”. 

The water is low and clear. Fish spook at every move. In the woods there is a large beaver dam. I see a small dead trout in the shallows. Is it because the water has slowed and warmed from the dam? The oxygen is lowered and it could have suffocated. Or been stuck by a kingfisher. Or been hooked by a fly fisher. Farther up I step over a turtle buried in the mud. Is it dead? On the way back its gone so, no. No takers on a dry fly. Collective wisdom might be right. Not the time to be trout fishing. 

I go upstream because, well why not? On first cast with a little dry fly the line seems to move on its own. I don’t even see what is moving the line until I reel in the line and see the buttery yellow sides as I unhook him. A 13 inch brown trout. Now Yellow Warblers and American Redstarts are fluttering on either side of me like a Disney movie. I would not be surprised if they start talking to me or breaking into song. The little black eye of the Yellow Warbler staring at me seems so intelligent. The mayflies they are eating look like a Hendricksons. That could mean good fishing up ahead.

Fishing every day makes each day less essential, less of a frantic rush and allows you to see patterns in nature or try things that go against collective wisdom, like fishing in the middle of a hot day. It’s less about skill, and more about brute force in the amount of data I can collect in the hours spent fishing these waters. This bend of the creek is where I taught my daughter to fly fish. We spent hours on one bend in the creek trying to get her to connect with a trout. She must have cast to trout feeding in that corner more than 40 times before she landed one of her first trout. I have since referred to that section as “Emily’s Corner” when I recount the day’s fishing report to my fly fishing friend. My daughter just beamed with pride the day I told her of my encounter with a perfect stranger on the creek one day who commented that they “got a nice brown out of Emily’s Corner.” Immortalized before 30 years old, what could be more satisfying?