Thursday, December 17, 2015
It's that time of year again boys and girls. That joyous season when the flotillas of bikini clad college things and the obnoxious drunken entourage that follows them are but a distant memory. Tis the season when cold, nasty days spent on a high, slightly off-colored piece of water dominate your thoughts at every opportunity.
This isn't a numbers game by any stretch of the imagination. This is all about putting in your time, paying those dues and hoping that the fishing gods smile on you once or twice during the season and you can put that two-footer in the net.
The fly boxes filled to overflowing with copper johns, prince nymphs and midges of every color don't even leave the house this time of year. This fishing is undertaken with flys that have names that sound as mean and nasty as the fish they're designed to catch. Flys with names like Hog Snare, El Chupacabra and the Sex Dungeon.
This is 8 weights and full sinking lines hucked from the front of a driftboat all day.
This time of year mornings call for a hearty breakfast and a big pot of coffee to kickstart the day.
Long gone are the relaxing midday riverside breaks where it's fully acceptable to lounge around in sandals and enjoy the beautiful weather. This is a piece of cold fried chicken and pounding a beer (or two)every time you get back on the oars while still trying to put your buddy on the right line for that next good looking run.
On most trips it just doesn't happen, you take what the river gives you and drink away the sorrows of defeat with your fellow miscreants while sitting around a warm fire at night.
Sometimes you get lucky and there's a consolation prize at the end of the day, like a good old Ozark fish fry with freshly gigged suckers and hush puppies and cold beer...and good friends.
No matter how the results pan out at the end of the day there's still nowhere I'd rather be...cold, wet and already thinking about that next trip...and that next fish.
Posted by HighPlainsFlyFisher