So I finally shook off the COVID blues and decided to go fishing one day last week.
Yampa River, northern Colorado, and admittedly it might have been a better day to ski, but I just couldn’t take it anymore. I needed to fish.
So I trudged through the snowpack to a prime spot, and the sun was beating down, and I was happy, and I thought, “Let’s bring it on!”
So I caught a trout on a zebra midge, suspended below a Hairwing Dun I was using as an indicator. Little feller… maybe 12 inches… which was wonderful, as I was officially on the board in 2021.
Sometime later, I saw an actual rise. Then another, and another. I wondered if they were eating midges… but nah, there was actually scant early spring baetis hatch happing.
“Crap…” I thought. I left that box at home. All I had was a tiny Parachute Adams stuck in the brim of my hat. And when I took that fly off my hat to tie it on, I realized the hook part was rusted. Screw it, I thought, I’ll cut the rusty hook off and see what happens. I still tied the fly on, and I fished it.
Sure enough… cast…. bump. Cast bump. No full on hook-sets, and no fish landed, only gentle bumps.
I couldn’t help but appreciate this in the current COVID context. Here I’ve been bumping elbows and fists with people I like… love… admire… for the last damn year, in this scary COVID reality.
It almost seemed apropos that I’d be doing the same virtual dance with the trout.
Indeed, we will all share a firmer handshake sometime down the toad. At least I hope so.