For those of you who either know me, follow the blog or have crossed paths with me in one way or another, you might recognize the fact that I get a great deal of satisfaction out of tangling with some of the large brethren in a trout stream, and typically with some sort of concoction that was bouncing around inside my skull that just so happened to come to life at the jaws of my Regal.
We as anglers, seem to all graduate to some sort of facet of the sport. Some begin the journey and watch it all come full circle, only to finish our days taking part in that piece that got us all started. Or, if you're like me, you find something that consumes you whole heartily, and you just can't seem to let it go; very reminiscent of an addict with their most coveted vice.
If you hadn't noticed, I really got it bad for launching big streamers in hopes of startling something gnarly, freakish, or in the category of Toad. With all of this snow I can't help but think about warmer days, full rivers and hours spent combing the water column with big stuff in hopes of finding "Walter". I guess it wasn't a coincidence that my first fly caught trout fell to a Muddler Minnow in my youth. As fate would have it, its kind of funny how that all played out for me as I look back upon the years that have passed since that day.
Although I appreciate and still enjoy stalking, waiting out and throwing a dry fly to a nice fish fixated on surface fare, or dredging a fast riffle with nymphs, I find myself less and less intrigued by both of these very rewarding facets of the game, rather choosing to throw big, bypass quantity for quality. There was a time when all I chose to do was fish in those two manners, putting in hundreds of days a year working on perfecting both techniques, something that I finally realized one day, is a lifelong pursuit that has no end.
These days, I am committed, obsessed I guess, with the pursuit of large browns via large flies, and I will not waver from the game plan, and have accepted the fact that some days I may go home empty handed as a result of my limitation. But the thought of a visual attack on my offering, or the shoulder jolting pull of a large trout are what gets my blood flowing, and keeps me reminded that the next cast may reward me with what I'm after. I can't imagine things any other way at this stage of the game.
For those of you who read this and can't relate, I apologize for my thoughts, but I can't help myself. For those of you who catch my drift, here's to another year chasing the one, and I hope you at least tangle with a few of those big fish you seek. As for me, you'll find me on some stretch of water where the numbers aren't high, but the possibility for Walter is always just a cast away. See you soon, for now I've got several flies to tie.