Moving upstream didn’t help matters – the banks were crowded under the same guise – and before the sun had even shown intentions of setting we were charging towards less stressful circumstances. Still wadered up from the ride, we picked up a meager supply of fish before dark, thoughts of pizza, booze, and bedding consuming us (and soon visa versa) thereafter. A dessert is discovered, bellies are filled, and whiskey (which is purchased in quantity because of county tax differentials) is taken down in moderation pending concoction of some arbitrage play. Still, couldn’t stop thinking about the potential efficacy of swinging Cap-Lures.
I’ve been promising a buddy of mine a day on the water. For about four fricken years. Things just never seemed to work out though.
His birthday came around, and he, the wife, and the kids packed up and came to Denver. Then the whole family got a flu bug, and once again it looked like fishing would be out.
The phone rang at 9:30am. We’re all feeling better, dude. Come pick me up.
It snowed, never broke twenty degrees, and the wind howled.
And we stuck pig after pig after pig after pig.
Happy birthday Hans.
MG signing off (to thaw my still frozen fingers)
The second day of Total Fly Fishing Emersion Weekend was somewhere between an outstanding success and a complete bust. Events of this extended nature usually require some semblance of stamina, but when you decide you are going to drive 200 miles to fish gold medal water after drinking the bar dry the night before, you might want to at least make sure the weather is decent. We were too hungover to check.
Down in South Park the winds were howling (with gust to 60+ mph). I don’t mind the wind too much, but it does force out the six-weight – unfortunately, the pupil was using the only one I had not specifically slated for streamer tossing, and it didn’t help either. We had temps in the low 30s, and spotty sun to boot. I picked up one rainbow in the four pound range (considered small for this stretch at this time of year). Didn’t bother pulling out the camera – that would have required removing gloves – and after walking the pup cross stream, netting, and then handing my rod to Chris, I hooked a fat sparkle worm through my jacket and got the line wrapped around my neck (twice). Sometime during the frustrating scramble I pushed the poor trout back home, realizing it wasn’t a carp that could survive unfazed on the beach for minutes while I untangled myself (and probably wasn’t supposed to be caught anyway).
We called the bar on the way home, and low and behold they got a new shipment in. The third day of Total Fly Fishing Emersion Weekend has therefore been canceled – we are breaking the bank and the alarm clocks, all in the name of beer.