Yesterday the first real “BWO day” of the fall descended on Mt. Shasta (drippy wet, not windy, grey), and if you’re a fly fisher who likes chasing working fish with tiny dries, you anticipate these days like a child anticipates Christmas (though xmas presents don’t swim away if you spook them).
The fantasy finds you out on a choice run, big fish sipping #20 BWOs, the weather just bad enough to make you feel like a monster stud, but not so bad that you’re suffering any real discomfort.
Sadly, the fantasy ran headlong into a raging virus (a gift from the L&T Nancy), and instead of doing my best crippled mayfly imitations on the river, I spent the day indoors, doing my best Steve Prefontaine imitation by dashing between the medicine cabinet and the bathroom.
Still not everyone was sick, and Chris Raine was last seen headed downriver, cane rod in tow, and I expect to hear – in graphic, minute, excruciating detail – just how good it was. When I do, you’ll hear it too.
Still, as long as you’re breathing and you’ve got an unbroken fly rod, hope springs eternal, and I’m much better today. Better enough that I’m squinting out the window, looking for any hint of good cloud cover instead of blue skies. Maybe that’s the beauty of killer BWO days. Unlike Santa, they come more than once a year.
See you on the river, Tom Chandler.
[tags] BWO, Blue winged olives[/tags]