Mojo

I was late to the river, life taking my full attention earlier in the morning, and the sun had already warmed away most of the mists and clearly defined the lines of light and shade. I had chosen the sweet, old St. George to accompany the vintage 50 DF and felt the balance was about perfect in my hand.

As I have learned more about the legacy of old Hiram Leonard, I have recognized a definite preference the rods demonstrate for a classic double tapered line. The reel however wore a modern favorite, one of Airflo’s Tactical Tapers, so I turned away from the intended water to make a short cast to see if the old rod approved. It turned over all sixteen feet of leader perfectly, so I took the fly in hand and waded gently into the river’s flow.

One of the lessons decades upon bright water teaches is the importance of drift lines. These are not the main current paths with their seams and chutes, their lurking boulders beneath. Consciousness of such are among the first lessons an angler learns. The drift lines I speak of are the subtle, minor currents, those traces through a pool which may only appear to the observant. They are revealed sometimes by nothing more than an occasional glint of light, a few specks of leaf matter or foam. Time has taught me to observe and consider this evidence.

I chose one such line of drift for my first fishing cast of the day, and the sweetness of classic bamboo placed my chosen dry fly in the heart of it. There in the early shade the little hopper drifted four or five feet and met another lurker interested in that same, subtle line of drift.

There is nothing to quite compare with the voice of a classic Hardy click check when a good trout runs for his freedom. It is a sound that thrills my soul!