Sheets of light sliced through cracks in the steep rock walls and cut through clouds of insects above the river. Thousands of dull blue-grey wings sparkled in and out of the rays shifting through the shadows. Sometimes a breeze carried warmth from where the sun still hit the grass outside canyon to where I waded in the cool evening air.
“Pop! A fish!” It startled me. He waded only a few yards ahead. The river barely reached his tiny shins. We had fished this stretch most of the morning because of it. I was focused on the bend in the river and working out my plan to set him up where the shallow riffle reached a ledge and faster water from the outside flowed in to make a place trout would hold.
A wince. Perhaps a groan. And then another cast. “Ahhh. That was a fish.”
We have all missed a trout we were not expecting. Unprepared. Distracted. Complacent. But there are two times it happens that should not surprise us. Two parts of the drift that are sometimes forgotten. Forgotten by us, but not the trout.
I had two goals on the river that day. First, catch trout. Nothing new there. Second, scout a place to take my five year old son fly fishing. My first objective influenced the second. Thus, I drove the shortest distance possible to a Colorado trout stream and sought a shallow stretch of water that would be close to the truck and fish well.
“Why don’t you write Jas?”
Just when I think I have something figured out, the river shows me how much I still have to learn.
Stop. Wait. There’s a fish there. You see him?
Getting skunked. It happens. But it’s not about catching fish, right? It’s about wading through a beautiful trout stream. The stillness of being alone with your own thoughts in nature. The rhythms of casting and mending line. Spending time with the people you care about. Are these not the special reasons we go fly fishing? Sure they are… but I still want to catch fish.