The season has fully flipped over now and the majority of us are in the grip of old man winter. ‘Tis the season now for embracing the onslaught of toe numbing, hand biting, coffee warming cold mornings in the river wondering just how you got here and why it seems that most mornings forgo the comfort of a warm bed and a heater. Times like these are the reason that most of your non-sporting friends look at you with a distrust and a pitiful glance reserved only for the most maniacal of lunatics. After all, anyone crazy enough to do this repetitively is not to be trusted, right?
Wrong. This is the time when the rewards are reaped. Those of us in “the know” realize that the mornings where the barren wood floor stings the soles of your warmth abandoning body are the most fruitful of all mornings. The hours upon hours of driving, rigging, layering are all worth it when you handle the warmth that can only be provided by the quarry that you seek. When you don’t care how cold it is, you still fall into the water to wrap your hands around that musky. When that swung fly finds its mark waist deep in 40 degree water. When the extra 29 pieces of split shot you affixed to your leader with trembling and cracked hands finally gets the fly deep enough in the run to entice the bruiser lurking beneath. Yeah, those are the moments that make it all so sweet.
So sit back, relax, and enjoy the latest episode of our little journal by a fire, with a cup of coffee, or a nice stout brew because where you should be going in the morning, it wont be quite as comfortable.
Tight Lines People.