Photo Courtesy of Artic Explorers
Being the Internets angry fly fisherman is not an easy job folks. The threats to wild fish and their habitat are never far from my thoughts.
It's not all angst and worry though and the many things that attracted me to fly fishing in the first place are the very things that sustain me.
It's like that perfect cast that I stumble into every once in awhile. The stars and planets all seem to align and I do my best Lefty Kreh imitation. The line rolls out in a perfect arc and my fly graces the surface in such gentleness that it seems like it was dropped out of the sky by heavenly hands.
A well executed cast is truly a thing of beauty and at least for me since it does not happen nearly enough but when it does then it will always bring a smile to my face.
The quietness of a late summer day on any coastal river while in pursuit of coastal cutthroat trout is another quality of this sport that defies description. I sometimes even find the quiet intimidating because maybe I'm afraid of doing something to disrupt it. I would compare it to the stillness of a church in silent prayer and so maybe it is my church so should I say "Amen" under my breath?
I am fortunate to live just over an hour away from some blue ribbon coastal cutthroat trout fly fishing and very seldom is there anyone else encountered along the stream, a stark contrast to what takes place during the time that the fall salmon are present. In these days of petroleum insanity the relatively short run to the upper Wilson is my refuge. I pine away for my cutts during the seven months of closure and treat the opener as some sort of holiday. So is it any wonder why one would fight so fervently to protect these fish?
Then there are those very special and very magical treks east ward to the rivers of such beauty that one could easily get emotional at the very first sight of them. Of course I'm talking about the Metolius and the Deschutes and
these are truly the rivers of my dreams.
I have tried to paint a picture on this blog as to the way I feel when I'm on these rivers.
The Deschutes in it's brawling, wild ruggedness and the Metolius in it perfection of beauty. As I've written before these rivers do not give up their trout with the same generosity as a coastal cutthroat stream and some have even asked why bother then?
Many of you know why I take the all too seldom trips to these rivers and I think it's something that only a fly fisherman can understand.
So while I fight what I consider is the good fight for wild fish I hope you readers understand why this way of life and the resource involved are so worthy of the fight. It's certainly not so I can have a pleasant place to reflect and cast my fly in my old age...well at least that is not the only reason. It's because there are some places and things in these tumultuous days that need to be reflected and written about for nothing other than to appreciate how lucky we are to have such escapes.
I know you have them and they may well be your escape and the elixir for your soul to help you cope.
They are silver linings even in the darkest times aren't they?