With 700 Billion good reasons to get the hell out of the house (and away from the news), the L&T, Wally the Wonderdog, and your intrepid reporter loomed up the daypacks and headed for the mountains once again.
I brought a fly rod, but fishing was second fiddle; after a couple hours of hiking, we found ourselves at a pair of mountain lakes (frequently visited and fished mountain lakes).
Hot damn; more beauty than you can shake a fly rod at.
Lately, I’ve been striking out on the mountain lakes like the Yankees have been striking out at the ballpark, and part of the reason is the timing; the lakes are still best in the evenings, but I’m usually dragging my flattened writer’s butt out by then.
No matter. Catching fish is a desirable byproduct of going fly fishing, but if it was all there was to the gig, then I’d probably stay home.
I won’t say things have been necessarily grim as of late, but at times, I clealry have lost sight of Wally the Wonderdog’s credo, where you find a little joy in every day, even if it’s simply because you’re sniffing a whole lot of new stuff in a pretty place.
Still, the Wonderdog’s very serious about his trout fishing, and I know beyond a doubt that he’s pretty fed up with me not catching trout, despite him helpfully pointing out the places where the trout obviously are:
“They’re right there, you schmuck. Catch one…”
Still, the focus was getting a little babe time outdoors in the company of the L&T – with all the stress, worries and hassles of everyday life stripped away. It’s a little like stepping into the kind of carefree existence we pretend we want before we clutter our lives to the point of madness.
In fact, to prove my point, I’m conducting a simple online test here on the Underground. Who would rather compile another STP report in a cubicle than do what the L&T’s doing?
The L&T at Upper Deadfall Lake: few fish, but quality napping.
I rest my case.
The fly fishing news? Not a single riser dotted the horizon, and as near as I could tell not a single trout attempted to burgle my streamer, Hare’s Ear soft hackle, Yong Special midge, or – and given all the hoppers around I was sure this would work – a grasshopper pattern.
Even wearing the Singlebarbed hat didn’t help.
It’s a short fishing report to be sure, but that’s the beauty of modern fly fishing; unlike our prehistoric fly fishing ancestors, you don’t go home skunked and hungry.
There are sandwiches and gorp to be eaten, and when you get out of the mountains and within cell range, there’s even a steaming pizza waiting at the pizza parlor.
I have no reason to print this other than I like it.
Still, at times I’ve used the phrase “your money or your life” to justify changes in my lifestyle that others would suggest weren’t in my best financial interest, and in a conversation this morning with a certain cranky rodmaker, I allowed as to how choosing “my life” over money in 1999 probably added a decade or two to my fast-diminshing urban lifespan.
As usual, I’m overcommitted when it comes to the words that have to be written, but I have managed to eek out time for another fly fishing trip later this week.
See you on the creek, Tom Chandler.
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