Streamer Junkie

As soon as the Clouser began to rocket forward a wind came from out of nowhere and blew it a good fifteen feet to the left of the fish and I let a four-letter word fly. Not that I would’ve caught either one of those fish, but a bad cast only adds insult to injury. Then the unexpected happened.

. It’s really something when you realize that there’s riots and viruses spreading all over the country and you’re disappointed in having to fish the Adirondacks instead of the Outer Banks. I guess that’s how I know I’m truly disconnected from the rest of the world at this point. But the disconnection is on purpose, so I guess I was right where I wanted to be, body and mind.

A couple times as we reeled in to move on or to change the fly simply because we were bored with such easy fishing and wanted to try to find the wrong fly to make it more challenging, brook trout attacked practically at our feet just as the fly was lifted from the water and I decided that perhaps I should be doing a figure 8 with the dry fly at the end of my rod tip like you do for musky at the side of the boat.

It took no time at all to get into bluegill. It actually took way longer to unload our boats and get everything rigged up than it did to find fish and for JP to have a bend in his fly rod.

Most of the time not thinking about stuff gets me into trouble. But out there, not thinking is exactly why I’m going.

But then there’s a little tug, and then nothing. I know it was a fish, and a smile creeps over my face. I know I missed it, and as I say out loud to myself, “That was definitely a fish,” I make another slow deliberate strip, I never pause in my rhythm.

After JP had taken a few moments to stand in the middle of the creek leaning on his walking stick, absorbing in the view, he rigged up his fly rod. A few casts later he said something about his headache being gone. I asked him “Oh, had a headache did ya?” And he said yes, for two weeks now. Tylenol wasn’t touching it. Whiskey may have helped him sleep but probably wasn’t helping it. But a few minutes standing in a creek and it was gone. I told him I guess we knew what was causing the headache. He nodded in agreement.

The snow was easily knee deep, and every step sank to almost exactly that. I questioned how badly I really wanted to reach the river, but I was standing there with waders on, flies in my hat, and a fly rod in hand. Obviously, I wasn’t going home.