Opening day of trout season, April 1, dawned cold, windy
and rainy. The day previous was sunny and mild, wouldn't you know.
Anyway, my fishing buddy Tony and I were determined to keep our tradition alive
of going out on opening day despite the weather. And we did it again this year.
But torrential rain the night before made it nearly
impossible to fish. The smallest brook, the tiniest stream, was turned to a
raging torrent. After several hours of traipsing through wet brush and up and
down steep banks, we decided to take a break and stop for breakfast, another
part of our tradition. It was good to get warm, too, since our fingers were
cold and stiff.
Surprisingly enough, several other people were out that
morning as well, trying to catch a few trout from discolored, rushing water. I
doubt that anyone else had any better luck than we did. Conditions were just
too bad to admit of catching anything anywhere. Well, almost.
After breakfast, we hit the last several streams on our
list and all were in spate, unwilling to yield any of their trouty treasures.
By mid-afternoon, we had had it and were headed home in defeat. But I recalled
a tiny brook that sometimes holds trout during the dog days of summer. Here, a
spring-fed pool provides cold, oxygenated water, essential to trout survival in
hot weather. I wondered if the pool held any trout now. There was only one way
to find out.
We stopped and left the truck, with me going down to the
pool to fish first. We've developed an alternating routine, where we
take turns fishing the best pools first.
Anyway, on the first cast a trout hit and I managed to
lose it at the last minute. Bushes and brambles surround the pool, making it
difficult to lift a rod high enough to firmly hook a fish, let alone lift it
from the water. The next cast resulted in another hookup and this time I
claimed my prize.
I caught two more fish from that pool and Tony came down
and took another. I had one trout that I had taken earlier, a token fish from
another prized pool.
So in the end, we both caught trout on opening day. These
were small trout, but their ceremonial value was immense.
We returned home tired, but happy. Another opening day
had come and gone, and we had done our part. And now we, I, look to the future
and hope for more opening days, perhaps warmer and sunnier than this one. But
even if they come in cold and rainy, it really doesn't matter. Just
getting out and doing it, keeping up tradition, is really what counts. Some
things are just like that.
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