Winter Break Fly-Fishing

I take a certain satisfaction  engaging in activities that are in tune with the seasons. Few things in life are as rewarding as sensing I am in the right place at the right time such as fly fishing to a specific hatch.

I love that sense of,  "It is time."  I love to feel, "in season," or "tis the season."  Back east we had a "closed season" and anglers looked forward to "opening day." Here in Colorado, most of our waters are open to fish any time of year. One local exception is Spinny Mountain Reservoir which has a closed season and an opening day. Opening day is highly anticipated by many anglers. Being a part of this ritual of  "opening day" creates a sense of connection to the bigger cycles of life.  

More specifically there are certain times of the year to put on specific flies during  certain hatches. When we follow such specific 'seasons' fly fishing gives us a sense of belonging. There is a time for the fish to rise and a time to lay low.  For me, now, is the time when both I and fish will lay low.  I feel I do not belong on the river now.

Often for me, the month of December is a time for me to retreat from the river. While it is cold and snowy, I prefer to cross country ski. I bundle up and keep warm blending in with winter.

I feel more in harmony with nature when I allow the seasons and the weather to dictate what I do. If I fish now, I feel I am "standing out," exposed to the cold. I feel I am "fighting" against the elements of nature rather than being a part of it all.  

I am not sure when I will fish again. Year to year, December tends to be my down time for fly fishing. But, as we know, Colorado weather can change so quickly.  Perhaps a warm, lengthening, day in January might bring me out to the river again. However, for now, I lay low like the fish. For now, I allow the snow and the cold to come down upon me. But I am not exposed. I remain warm, becoming a part of the landscape, deep in powder.

I glide silently, low and deep, in the womb of the wood. I ski the mountain and forest, forever looking for a glimpse of the source of all this winter beauty.  I look for a hint of warmer days to come, when a fish might rise, as I too will rise from my own interior winter. 

The Mind of Winter

I think often about my place in nature. I wrestle with my sense of belonging. Sometimes I walk up to the river and on my first few casts I catch fish. Everything is beautiful, flowing, and everything is just right. I feel I belong.

Fishing or doing anything in harsh conditions can be different. Sometimes it just too cold and the wind feels too harsh to belong. Sometimes we are just waiting and waiting for things to warm up and for the fish to start feeding. During such moments, at least for me, I feel almost "God forsaken" in a God forsaken land.

Yesterday, I went skiing. It was cold, bitter cold.  "Cold on cold; snow on snow." Usually I love floating and flowing on snow. But, the cold wind was unrelenting. I had to turn my back on nature to keep my face from freezing. I was miserable wondering in such harsh conditions how this is "God's place." I found myself wondering if there was some way to "enter," to enter God's creation, and to enjoy it. If there was a way in, and I was supposed to be there, I was missing the point of entrance.

Poets give us clues. Could I be like a snow-man?  Poetic words by Wallace Stevens from a poem titled, "The Snow Man."

"One must have a mind of winter, to regard the frost and the boughs of pine trees crusted with snow; And have been cold a long time to behold the Junipers shagged with ice. The spruces rough in the distant glitter of the January sun. And not to think of any misery in the sound of the wind, in the sound of a few leaves,which is the sound of the land full of the same wind that is blowing in this same bare place."

A Bass Pond in Florida:

Leaving the cold and snow of Colorado to fish a bass pond in Florida is kind of strange. It was 82 degrees.  Fishing still-waters for bass brings back memories of fly fishing a pond in New Jersey where as a child I first learned to fly fish.

At some level fishing is just fishing. We throw the line out (in this case a black bead-head streamer), and we strip the line in waiting for a tug. Often a strike from a bass is felt as "dead weight," and is not frantic like a trout. A bass will just suck in the fly and it feels as though you caught a snag. But then you feel its life pulsating.

Regardless of where we fish or what we fish for, after fishing for 50 years one truth is becoming more and more clear: Taking the time to stand alone on the banks of a pond or a river, and to cast with the hope of hooking a fish is a profound spiritual achievement.

Even if hooking bass in a pond.

In the Moment:

In the movie, “The Secret Life of Walter Mitty,” there is an insightful scene at the end when Sean O’Connell (Sean Penn) is about to take a picture of a rare snow leopard. He is tucked on the side of the mountain and has zoomed in on the beautiful creature. Walter Mitty (Ben Stiller) shows up and is watching; waiting for Sean to shoot the picture. Finally he asks, When are you going to take it? Sean responds, “Sometimes I don’t. If I like a moment for me, personally, I don’t like to have the distraction of the camera. I just want to stay in it.” Walter Mitty is not sure exactly what he means so he asks, “Stay in it?” Sean replies, “Yeah, right there. Right here.”

 

I think how I now often do not like to take many pictures of fish for this simple reason. The process of taking pictures can be a distraction. I would rather keep fishing and just be in the moment, and the next moment, and the next. I also think in our computerized world where we chronically post millions of pictures all over the internet we may be living more of a virtual life, than the reality of life in each moment. If I catch a fish and the first thought is to take a picture so I can post it for the world to see, I may be missing “some-thing” in the moment.

Hiding Under the Ice

While I will still fish in our open tail waters some part of me secretly likes it when I think of fish hiding safely under the expanding ice. Finally, some rest.