Every year, the culmination leading up to the yearly trout re-opener is a flashback to my childhood and its ’are we there yet’ days of family fishing trips. My family went fishing every year for as far back as I can remember. Fittingly, my July birthday was celebrated each year in either a tent or camper next to the river that I consider my second home.
It may sound strange to anyone besides a beaver or fish to describe a body of water as a home but for some of you out there I suspect you know the feeling. Upon your arrival to a favorite stream or lake, the comfort is immediate and subliminal. Everything around you is familiar. The trees are in the same places but in their 20 years of incremental growth spurts now tower over you. The trout are still there, descendants of the first caught and released rainbows on your Dad’s salmon fly rod.
Standing bankside the movement is automatic. Lining up the guides, fastening tight your reel, tying on your favorite fly to light tippet. The memories are always a blur until the fly lands softly on the water. The senses then come alive with focus until that moment and the rise.
The trip is being mapped out as we speak but in reality it’s been been in planning mode since last June. There is something special in the first trip of the year to your home stream. As each year passes I’m finding myself stepping back more to enjoy the subtle nuances.
Last year, I noticed a tiny shrew swimming near the bank looking for a decent landing spot. Oddly enough, on the same trip, I had no clue about the black bear sniffing just 15 feet away from me while fishing midstream until D caught my eye downstream. After seeing his wide eyed face I immediately knew what was behind me bankside.
The plan this week is to tie up a few dozen flies and enjoy a full day on our home water. You can bet that there will be plenty of ‘are we there yets’ come early Saturday morning.
