It’s California damnit. It’s not supposed to be like this.
This morning it was 9 degrees outside and 33 degrees in my downstairs office, which means I was working in fingerless gloves, a fleece hat, fleece pants and a Nano Puff jacket — roughly the same clothes I’d wear if I was chasing the BWO hatch on the river.
(With careful wording, I could foist a report from this morning’s work session on my readers as if it were a fishing report: “Despite my frozen hands and frostbitten toes, I never saw a fish or a BWO”.)
It’s been cold enough that I’m starting to feel like one of those people too lacking in common sense to leave Northern Montana for the winter.
Almost Fishing Reading For A Cold Winter’s Day
This is proper literary stuff (in other words, it’s not related much to fly fishing), and they’re from the mid-to-late 1980s, but McGuane and Harrison remain stars to most fly fishermen, so read away and enjoy.
Meanwhile, back at the ranch, we’re looking at daily highs exceeding 40 degrees this week, a thought which brings tears to my eyes (I would have cried before, but the tears would have frozen in their ducts).
See you heading for the river one of these days, Tom Chandler.