Next Monday I can drive a 12 hour round trip to stand in 22 degree snow-filled air for a waffer thin chance that I might hook and lose a single steelhead. This pittance we'll call a good day, and for a while, perhaps enough time to carry me half-way home, the drug will keep me "up"
. The iced guides and sweaty neoprenes will just have to be. I'll have hand and feet warmers provided I remember to add them to the long list of shit my life will depend on in frozen hell. Bring on the combat with other anglers for the right to chuck'n’ duck - rinse, repeat, rinse, repeat, ex creta, ex creta, ad infinitum - through the precious few holes where a steelhead might lie this time of year on the upper reaches of the Salmon River, Pulaski. If I take a single pee break during the only five minutes the fish are biting, I will certainly hook nothing and I just don’t know how to work this out. Highway burgers and the feeling of less than good, wholesome, fly-fishing fun. Gas. More gas. Expenses. Physical fatigue for the following two weeks will compete with a persuasive clinical low for my selection of medication. I'll recall the first few months of my first born child (in lucid moments I can do this voluntarily) and the painful memories that I know, with certain fear, will be magically obscured as my genetics compel me to do this again and again. Rinse, repeat.
 |
| Hell, on a mild day. |
Or, I can tootle merrily along in the style of Ms. Marple (I drive an old Subaru wagon) to a wild brook trout stream and fish the warmer CT woods. Very pretty. Secluded. A good chance I'll bring a fish or three to hand, this day. They will be laughingly small in a very respectful way; and they will be
wild and small, so I'll cast myself as the dandy Artisan that I really am. I'll luncheon on home-prepared fare and soda pop - I'm so cozy in my car I'll take humorous picnic pictures for future publication! The cost will be nothing more than the price of a delicious stoagie, the white smoke from which I see now, wafting
Prozekly on the silent winter air as I give brief pause to dry my No.12 Dave's Hopper and presently greet the bluebird that has just settled on my left wading boot. It will be lovely and I'll return home, accomplished, in time for tea with my radiant wife and beautiful children.
 |
| Heaven |
Split-shot: check.
Stanley's ice-off paste: check.
Hand-warmers: check
......I'll see you in Hell.
Jonny
Atta-boy Jonny! Go get them chromers.
ReplyDeleteLamton. This is not in the slightest bit helpful.
ReplyDeleteThanks.
Jonny
hmmm. tough choice, but all it takes is one hook up with a fresh steelie to make the trip to hell worth it.
ReplyDeleteGood luck!
No, no; that's not true. One hook up is just as likely (more likely?) to equate to a crushing loss as a large silver fish gains its freedom.
ReplyDeletePlease, show a little mercy. I'm trying to do the right thing here.
Jonny
I know of a pretty little stream with fat Browns. But I understand your sickness and wish you a fast and successful recovery.
ReplyDeleteI'm with you!! That is how we spend most of our weekends!
ReplyDelete@Pink Waders. You feel my pain. And I'd like a pair, really I would.
ReplyDelete@Zakur. You say you understand, but don't seem to be similarly afflicted. If we could go to a small stream that might help me. Fat Browns that are capitalized sound persuasive.
Sadly I am more deeply afflicted by the desire for a salary.
ReplyDeleteFor sure our lanyards wont fill themselves!
ReplyDeleteThese mid-winter sausage fests are not what I'd call ideal, but I think there is pristine streams loaded with steel and salmon, 72 virgins and a big streak in the afterlife for those of us who endeavor to chase the chrome here. Best fishing post of 2012!
ReplyDeleteI don't care where you fish, just make sure you post pictures of lunch. -- CK
ReplyDeleteThanks Darren. Like good beer, I've struggled to find a truly satisfying sausage since I left the United Kingdom of Great Britain.
ReplyDeleteWorthy of a video product review when I do.
Oh, the hardships of being a cryptozoologist! I admire the effort you and your fellow explorers put into your search for mythical beasts such as the "steelhead". I don't believe they exist but I appreciate that you try to catch one anyway.
ReplyDelete