All in a tweener's eve.
The 'tweener' is the fishing trip one takes in between this and that and the other thing on the long list of things that one has to do to survive. Yesterday I had just such occasion to hit up a local stream to get in an hour and a half of fly fishing.
It was the first outing of the year where the heat and good old "suck the soul out of you" humidity had reared it's ugly head here in NY. I rigged up at the car and felt the suffocation of my thickly woven 30 year old busted up and torn Hodgman waders. Man, I really need a new pair. That's for another day, though.
With beads of sweat rolling down my back I stepped into the stream. Sweet relief. The coolness of the stream with a slight upstream breeze was just what I needed. I was in heaven. This brought me immediately into the present moment, my day's tasks, whether before or after, were now non-existent. This is why I fish. All else disappears. It does help that I like to catch fish I suppose but that's the bonus, right?
The Good Lord's AC cranking, I began to scout. I didn't fish, didn't strip the line out just yet. Yeah, I only had a limited fishing opening but I've got to mature at some point, right? I looked and then I looked some more as the water slogged into a newly formed tear in said waders. There it was, just upstream. Pocket water. They must be there.
I quietly made my way upstream and across the riffles to a good run between a couple of decent sized boulders. If one can tiptoe across rocks then that was what I was doing. I had a hunch. I was right.
My first four casts produced three trout. All Rainbows. All beautiful. One I won't soon forget.
I've heard and read about this type of action out of a particular hole and I've even caught a couple of fish out of the same run but this felt a little ridiculous to me. How did they not see it coming? How did they not get spooked? Where was the hidden camera?
Satisfied immediately and still plenty of time to linger in this 'tweener', I walked upstream to fish a run that I've had a hunch about for quite some time but has never produced. That was also turned on it's ear as I managed two smallish feisty Browns within just a few casts along the outside seam of the run. If there is a hog heaven then call me a pig.
I probably could have fished more but I didn't. I'm maturing, you see. I can look at the water before dropping a line in and I can leave in time these days to get to my next "this or that or the other thing."
Of course, I was late to my next thing. By about ten minutes. Maybe fifteen.
This was one of the toughest fighting Rainbow's that I've had the pleasure to tango with.