About Face
To me, trout fishing and solitude go hand in
hand. Except for my teen years when my
brother-in-law Ron taught me how to fish for trout, I have pretty much fished
alone. Even with the crowds of opening
weekend, if I got to a bridge across a stream that I intended to fish, and
another vehicle was already parked there, I would drive to another location. It didn’t bother me to come off the stream
and find other cars, but I really wanted to be the first to fish each hole. It was important to fill my creel with a day’s
limit, and I felt that being first gave me the best chance. That meant rising early in the morning on
opening day, when it was still dark and not doing anything yet to resemble
morning at all.
In my college years I beat the crowds by camping up
north, so the streams that I intended to fish were all within less than a
half-hour drive. The first year I did
that the entire weekend was sunny and in the 70’s. It was wonderful. The next year it was cold and dreary as I
drove to the stream. I didn’t realize
how cold it was until I was fishing the second hole and my reel didn’t appear
to be working. As I looked more closely
I realized that it wasn’t a problem with my reel; it was the fact that several
of my rod guides were iced up. Each time
I came to a new hole, I had to hold each guide until the ice melted.
The fish were lethargic that morning but I did manage
to fill my creel with a limit of trout in just a couple of hours. When I got back to the bridge where my car
was parked I saw about a half-dozen others there as well. I also noticed a young boy standing on the
bridge, looking over the railing at the water below. “Catch anything?” he asked cheerfully. “Yes, I have a limit,” I responded. “My dad is fishing downstream. He told be that I had to stay by the bridge
and wait for him.” I had an idea. “Do you have a creel?” I asked. “No, but I have a stringer.” I took my trout and put them on his
stringer. “Now, when your dad comes back,
you show him these trout and tell him that you caught them all right here by
the bridge.” He agreed. I hoped that kid’s dad’s face was just as I
pictured it in my mind.
I drove back to camp and noticed a couple of the sites
were now empty. I was tired with my
pre-dawn rise and so I decided that I would take a nap. I laid down on my cot and closed my
eyes. I woke to the sound of car doors
slamming in the next campsite over. I
listened to the engine start and heard them pull out. I opened my eyes and noticed that the roof of
my cabin tent was threatening collapse.
I unzipped the window and peered out.
Large snowflakes were streaming down and there was already about five
inches of snow accumulated on the ground.
I got dressed and used a broom to clean off the
tent. By the time I finished the snow
had stopped, so I took a walk around the campground. All the campsites were empty. The car doors slamming when I woke from my nap
must have been the last of the campers other than me. I stuck it out for the weekend. Sunday was sunny and the temperatures warmed
into the 60’s. But there was a thick fog. I tried some fishing but without any
luck.
About twenty years ago, as the last weekend of
September neared, my wife had plans to be out of town. The weather was supposed to be nice. I would usually be hunting for deer with a
bow by that time of year, but on a whim, I decided to go trout fishing instead
as the season closed at that time on the final day of September. It was a day that changed everything. The fall colors were just starting to turn,
the temperature was pleasant, and the trout were hungry. Because they spawn in the fall, the colors of
fish were even more spectacular than the turning maple leaves.
Since that weekend, I have not fished another opening
day. Instead, the weekend that I shoot
for is one near the closing day of the season.
In fact, I celebrated the five-year anniversary of my retirement on
September 24. I timed my retirement date
so I could take a whole week to fish for trout.
I just got unpacked from this year’s trip to the Driftless area of
southwestern Wisconsin. There were no
other fishermen, so the pace was relaxed.
The brown trout were bright, big and chunky. And they are all still there; I stopped
keeping trout over thirty years ago.
It was a three-and-a-half-hour
drive home, so I had plenty of time to think of how much I’ve changed as a
trout fisherman over the years. My body
is a bit wearier than it used to get from a day astream, but my mind and my
heart are more relaxed. “So, with old age is wisdom, and
with length of days understanding.” Job
12:12
His Peace <><
Deacon Dan
Photo by Walter Martin on Unsplash
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