Having said all of this, I want to start fresh, if you will. It's been a long time since my last post on here, and I guess you could say that I kind of miss it. I love the ability to write about my adventures in the amazing sport of fly fishing, and as I sit here at my fly tying table during Thanksgiving break, I couldn't help but think about writing another post.
I suppose it's not exactly an opportune time to get things rolling again, seeing as I now live in Wyoming, where nearly every bit of water is now frozen solid. However, I have plenty of fairly recent stories to tell from before my move to Wyoming, many of which include some rather nice fish. So, without further ado...
It was a blustery day to say the least. Upon our arrival, it was evident that the water was significantly lower now than ever before, and that fishing might be a bit challenging. Staring through the cracks in the windshield, the ultimate decision was to be made. Water so cold that you can only manage to stand in it for five minute periods, howling winds, and, in simplest terms, not much water to work with all presented us with a tough choice. However, we hadn't driven this far to turn back around, so I'll be damned if we didn't give it our best go.
Now, I'm sure you can already see where this is going. We sat there and fished our hearts out for hours on end. Cast after cast, nothing wanted to cooperate. We would change flies incessantly, assuring ourselves that with each change of the fly, our chances of catching a monster would increase. Unfortunately, that wasn't the case. In fact, it seemed that changing flies was having an opposite affect. Nonetheless, we continued. As the sun began to sink, we were beat. Casting heavy streamers on fly rods similar in stiffness to telephone poles all day had taken its toll.
Here is where the classic, "last cast of the day" comes into play. As the sun set further behind the mountains, I suddenly felt a tug on the end of my line; something I had been waiting for all day. Upon setting the hook, it was noted in my mind that this fish was no pushover. Runs that made my drag scream also mad my heart race and before long, he lay in the bottom of my net, admitting defeat. The fish turned out to be my biggest trout to date ~ an accomplishment that I always enjoy achieving. After quick photos and a hasty release, neither of our hands could handle the bitter windchill any longer, signaling the end of the day. It was a promising event, and one that would lead to a stellar day of fishing come daybreak.... Stay tuned for the rest of the story!
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| Photo by Forrest Carpenter |
