Getting Lost

 

 

There are simply not enough days like this; days on the river where all the stars align to make the whole experience perfect—or as close to perfect as a person can ask for. How does that old saying go, “a bad day fishing is better than a good day working,” what fishermen wouldn’t agree with that? Let’s add to it with, “a good day fishing is better than damn near every other day.”

It started off right when Johnny and I showed up on the river, and he noticed this huge buck down in the valley, crossing the field, just off the edge of the river. He was so majestic with his chest all puffed out, and walking with such swag, is if to say, “Yes I have survived many a hunting seasons to earn this huge rack.” He didn’t spend too much time out in the open, so watching him was short lived; he crossed the river, and entered thick brush, not to be seen by us again. If I see this scene a thousand times I don’t think I will ever tire of watching it. Watching that monster buck for a limited amount of time made it all the better—short and sweet.

When we got to the river, the first section we looked at was boiling with big fish feeding off the top. Little fish make a big splash, but big fish know that the bug is going nowhere and they exert only the amount of effort needed to eat the bug: hence big fish small splash. The hole was alive with small splashes. I figured they were going after little black midge, and buffalo midge would be the best bet. But files that small are so freaking hard to see, I opted to do a small attractor pattern off the top that would land gentle, and act more like an indicator with a soft hackle dropper about 18 inches below. It worked like a charm. The Browns were beautiful with full vibrant colors being in the spawn.

We spent the day socking up nearly perfect weather. The water level was low and slow creating a total advantage for the fish. As much fun as fishing was watching Johnny sneak up and painstakingly place each cast in that sweet spot. Sometimes he was successful and other times the breeze, the branches and the back cast obstacles just wouldn’t let it happen. We laughed through most of the day with our own stupid little jokes; most of them old jokes we have told each other over and over, just with a little new updated spin on them. We have the some conversations over and over—it just changes slightly with updated news of each others lives. I like it that way. I am content to be a stupid simple minded fool.

 I wish I could bring the right words together in a way that would capture the joy of this day; the way all the variables came together to create a feeling of total relaxation and appreciation of the natural world. I find myself lost in one moment with absolute concentration on the cast, trying to make it land in just the right spot; then the next moment just watching a weed bend in the breeze. The clouds were full of life, sometimes blotting out that needed light to watch the drift, and that warmth of direct sun. I watched a little white mink make his way past us. He looked at us as if to say, “what up?” and then back on the hunt.  There are simply not enough days like this—a perfect day on the river.