In the middle of a gray, snowy winter, the phrase “making hay while the sun shines” acquires a patina of meaning that simply doesn’t exist on your average warm, summer day.

I don’t know if an itch to go fly fishing instead of working necessarily qualifies as an emergency, but it damned well felt like one. We haven’t exactly seen an overabundance of sunny days, so when one appears, you fail to take advantage at your own peril.

 
Does the lack of this constitute an emergency?

So I grabbed a fly rod and skis, packed the Lowe winter day pack, and loaded the tail-wagging Wonderdog into the Bronco.

The ski trip in was all downhill, so I had ample time to focus on Wally the Wonderdog’s tendency to chase me downhill, then cut in front of me when he got ahead (think it’s that hunting dog instinct).

A portrait of the writer as a shadow.

Still, I arrived sans face plant, got unpacked, put on waders, rigged the 8.5′ 4wt Diamondglass rod, and watched.

And watched.

No risers, though there were midges on the water. If prior winters are any indication, we’re past the point where you can count on an olive hatch, though you shouldn’t necessarily count them out either.

 
This is one cool midge rod. Sadly, it isn’t being made any more.

For once, I was prepared. The 8.5′ 4wt Diamondglass rod is ideal for this kind of technical winter fishing, and I tied on what’s been a killer midge for me — a glass bead variant of the Yong Special.

It’s a nothing fly — basically black sewing thread wrapped on a hook to give the body a taper. I add a pearl glass bead to imitate a detached blackly larvae (found in huge numbers way downriver), but figure the glass bead won’t hurt even in the absence of blackflies.

I tied it behind a BWO parachute, and fished one short stretch of river for about 90 minutes.

The result was a pair of hookups; the fish in the picture above simply came unbuttoned, but the 16" rainbow below — photographed after the light was gone from the canyon — made it all the way to hand.

Curse the poor quality light; it’s another rose-colored Upper Sac Rainbow

After releasing the fish, I kinda wish he’d come unbuttoned too; my hands stung like I’d been playing catch using a porcupine as the ball.

In fact — once the sun disappeared behind the canyon walls, everything got kinda cold, and with my sun-and-trout-related emergency deftly averted, I packed up my gear and started the slog out.

The long, uphill slog.

Which I would do again in an instant, though today I actually do have to work.

Every winter, there comes a time when I’d basically kill to see just one Green Drake get eaten by a trout, but that kind of electric moment is months away.

Instead, there’s a spare elegance to fishing in the winter, provided you meet the cold, the snow and the tiny flies on their terms instead of yours.

See you on skis, Tom Chandler.

Halfway up the hill.