At last, I found myself on a river for the past four days. Unless chubs are counted, I have nothing tangible I can show to prove some gain, but I feel it there inside.
I rolled over this morning and felt the aching in my casting shoulder and my knee throbbing a bit, to remind me that four days on the river are a sudden exertion compared to a long winter followed by nearly three months of convalescence. I reacted to the return of these old familiar pains by rolling over again for another nap, before getting to my feet to challenge the day. I don’t feel any of that pain in either my shoulder or my knee now, so that extra half an hour of sleep worked wonders!
I’ve talked with a few friends, those who were out fishing while I was constrained with recovery, and I know there were some signs of spring between the bouncing thermometer, lots and lots of high winds, and cold. I trust those few when they tell me they fished a hatch and took some nice trout.
I had hoped to be able to jump (well, not limp doesn’t sound good, but jump more than overplays the facts) and get right back into the groove. Stalking trout, spying big brownies sipping tasty mayflies, and then sending perfect casts bearing a choice dry fly, and jubilantly feeling the energy through that arched rod and delighting the music of the screaming reel. Well, it seems that I missed all of that spring promises. One has to find those big trout actually in the company of those mayflies. If they are out there, they seem to be in someone else’s orbit.
I did have that wonderful, classic moment on my very first steps upon the river, post-surgery, and I remain very, sublimely thankful for that. I hope that I will cross the paths of both trout and mayflies, both in agreeable temperaments, and feel that thrill again. Right now, it seems I have more dues to pay and time on the water. I’ve missed that more than you know.
Bright Waters Catskill 