So far, I’ve had no success in the trout stream yet this year. My outings have been limited by a knee injury from which I’m gradually recovering with a little rest and TLC after an active weekend with two of our Yooper granddaughters. Oh, what fun and memories, despite some occasional lingering signs of aging. But enough about that. We’re talking about fishing here.
Why the title of this article? On the day of my most recent outing, I was more cognizant of the weather as I carefully planned my trip to the stream, in hopes of better fishing conditions than previously. It was to be a cloudy afternoon in the low 60’s to high 50’s. Two hours before I departed, I checked the weather on my phone one last time, and it was looking good… only 1 percent chance of rain. I figured I was good to go. I made sure I had the proper clothing for cooler temps, feeling a bit proud of myself for being so well organized. Well, pride cometh before the fall, and it certainly felt like fall out there on this particular day. The mosquitoes were feisty as I entered the stream, glad for my bug repellent with DEET. I mentally divide this trip into thirds, with the first and third historically bringing the most success. But there was no success to be found as less than halfway through the trip it began to rain. Trying to kick your way down the stream with heavy waders on is challenging enough, but add the many branches along the way… Let’s just say, there were more lessons to be learned that day. I should have at least had a rain jacket. To add salt to the wounds, wouldn’t you know that I stubbornly made one last ditch effort to cast my line, about 200 yards from the finish line, only to become terminally entangled in the branches above, forcing me to abandon fishing for the remainder of the trip. About 100 yards from where I was to exit the stream, I saw a dead deer with just its bloated belly and an ear sticking out of the water, as I pondered the cause of his demise. That’s nature, I guess. But I can’t help but consider the effects of the historical spring flood of 2026 on the river, creating dangerous conditions for wildlife.
And then there’s the matter of the current state of the fish population. I keep asking myself, why the lack of activity at the end of my line? An ice storm one year, followed by severe flooding the next may play some part in all this. As I meandered down the stream in my fishing tube, though the water level no longer seemed elevated, there were numerous displaced large branches for which I was forced to circumvent, very carefully I might add, to avoid tearing my tube or worse yet, my Simms waders.
After four spring fishing outings, I’ve yet to feel that familiar tug I long for and fear I’ll soon forget this much desired sensation altogether. But what’s the old saying… a bad day in the fishing stream is better than a good day at work. Being retired, this application now fails me, but I think I can appreciate the gist. I hope I don’t sound like I’m complaining. It’s observation and contemplation, something retired folks find plenty of time to embrace.
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