Winter Dreaming

It’s that golden hour on the stream, where the light hits just right. You can see the rainbow trout you just released swimming off to hide under the boulder. The sun’s warmth gives the evening a little extra something that you know is fading as autumn comes to a close. This is all a distant memory as I sit by the fire this early January evening.  

The last year is now behind us. The splendor of nature in all her fall glory is past.  Snow now coats the fallen leaves and offers a canvas waiting to be painted.  I believe that most of us in some form or fashion have an excitement for the coming of a new year. It’s that unknown, the blank slate that we can mold into whatever we want, that’s what excites us.    

The anticipation of the upcoming season can be seen on fly tying desks everywhere. My vice holds a familiar pattern, the Bead Head Price Nymph. I tie it with red thread to give it a hot spot. As I tie I ponder if this is the one. The one that will catch the first fish of the season, or will it be the fly that I hook that monster brook trout on. Hope, anticipation, dreams and hard work are what will bring the next adventure to bay. A new season filled with wonder of what’s ahead and years past. These are all the thoughts and feelings of an angler on a cold winter’s night. I will fill fly boxes with the flies of this dream of anticipation.  

I have plans for the pending season. Local trips, time in the mountains and many overnights. Brook trout, brown trout, & rainbow trout fill my head with visions of success. Yet, I’m hearing a calling to some place new and unknown. A place with trout that I have not seen yet. A place where the people aren’t. Could it be a hiking trip into the Adirondack Mountains to a new stream? Maybe it’s the mountains of the land of enchantment in New Mexico where the Rio Grande Cutthroat are.  I can hear them calling me like the sirens of the sailors from days past.  

This shocks the memory like a defibrillator shocks a heart back to life. I can smell the Aspen, hear the wind & feel the dryness in the air. I’m back in the mountains, I’m hiking the stream… 

On this day I was getting beat-up by elevation over 10,000 feet. It hits hard being from the Adirondacks where we live at maybe 1,000 feet. My heart and head could feel the thin air but that was not going to stop me. I came to try my luck for a wild Native Rio Grande Cutthroat Trout and that’s what I was going to do! The stream was so choked, so small by East Coast standards. Casting was difficult to impossible in most places. The bow & arrow cast became my best friend in the mountains of New Mexico. At the beginning by the lake, I began catching brook trout. Normally this would be amazing but here they didn’t belong. I traveled over a thousand miles to catch the trout of the East in the West. Man had won; it appeared as if the native fish were gone… 

I don’t quit. I kept going up the stream deeper into the mountains, I came across amazing vistas and beautiful mountain meadows the likes that an Adirondacker had never seen. I remember stopping for lunch at one meadow where elk had recently been wallowing; they had moved on, but you could feel their spirit.  I kept fishing cast after cast in search of the fish of my dreams.  

This lives in memory now. Vividly I can see it. I came to the section of stream that I could cast. It was one of those spots you get filled with anticipation.  I slowly prepared myself. Where do I cast? This is always the first thought. Right there at the eddy that’s the spot. I cast and my fly hits the water. It’s all in slow motion. The fly drifts untouched downstream. I pause for some time pondering. It was time to cast again, this time at the base of a small waterfall. My arm reaches back then forward and the fly touches the water. Instantly the fly goes under the water. I tighten my line and the battle ensues.  I caught a glimpse and knew what it was. A short time later and the fish of a 1000 miles was in my net. All my planning, all my hard work, the days of hiking and camping in the mountains had paid off. I held in my hand the fish of my lifetime, a perfect Rio Grande Cutthroat Trout. I could try to describe the artwork that Mother Nature had crafted in my hands, but I couldn't give it justice. To hold a fish wild and free in its home range away from man and his ideals gave me hope. The Rio Grande Cutthroat is here and alive.  

The dog barks and I’m back to reality at the fly-tying desk on this cold January night. A new season is in front of us. It’s time to fill our fly boxes, plan our trips and dream about what may come.  So, make this the year you get outside and find your mountain steam and chase your dreams! A new season is upon us.  

The Adirondack Trout Bum