Goin' fishin'

Today may be Spring in the North Country. In fact, it may be all that's left of Spring, the last of several widely scattered days with temperatures over 65℉, sunshine, and mild, mellow breezes. Tomorrow, and the rest of the week, we're forecast to return to highs in the low 60s and mid-40s, with rain and clouds most days. In a week, or two, or three, we will probably leap into the upper 80s and high humidities, once again foregoing what normal people experience as real Spring. We don't care. We're going fishing, for trout, with the Better Half. We plan on doing a lot more of that this year. We may even engage in some actual catching. Postings may or may not be irregular over the next several days or so. We've rain gear, warm clothes, and a determination to have some fun. The fish are wet all the time anyhow, and we've been wet before and probably will be again before we're done.

will one of these be the magic fly?

Photo by J. Harrington

Would it be more pleasant with warm, sunny days? Undoubtedly. But, it's been a long Winter and a trashy Spring. We need to spend time outside instead of sitting in a chair, looking out a window, and complaining. So, we're going. We seem to remember an old saying that the best time to go fishing is when you can. We'll test that this week. If there's thunder and lightning around, we'll pass, because waving nine feet of graphite around with lightning in the air involves levels of dumb fool-hardiness that exceed even ours. On the other hand, this year we don't want to miss all of what passes for Spring without having wet a line. Wish us luck.

Speckled Trout

By Ron Rash

Water-flesh gleamed like mica: 

orange fins, red flankspots, a char 

shy as ginseng, found only 

in spring-flow gaps, the thin clear 

of faraway creeks no map 

could name. My cousin showed me 

those hidden places. I loved 

how we found them, the way we 

followed no trail, just stream-sound 

tangled in rhododendron, 

to where slow water opened 

a hole to slip a line in, 

and lift as from a well bright 

shadows of another world, 

held in my hand, their color 

already starting to fade.

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