Friday, January 15, 2010


There is something about the classics. Be they movies, music, paintings, architecture...whatever. Even trout flies. Do you recall seeing a plate of classic dry flies when you first started tying? And as determined as you were to tie them never got it done. Well, I never did anyway. But those images were fixed forever in your mind. Such it is with me and the Blue Winged Olive...a tempter with few peers.


It snowed about 14 inches the week before Christmas and the daytime temps have stayed below freezing...until today. For nearly a month our yard has been encased in ice. Completely covered in compacted and hard as a rock snow. No more “ice climbing” just to get from the drive into the house. Yes, yesterday the sun was out and it hit fifty degrees. Winter is over; daffodils are getting antsy and so am I. The hatches are coming and wet wading is in vogue again. Don’t I wish.

Hopefully this respite from Alaskan weather will be permanent and I can again start accepting fishing invitations.

I will look back on this year as the one where I swore off winter fishing forever. As one ages, things change. Especially one’s tolerance for the cold.

My buddy Mike, (who is obviously still a youngster) over at his Mike’s Gone Fishin'... Again blog has just posted a great piece about winter fishing, and the quite solitude that it can provide. But as beautiful as his words are and as stunning as his photography is, there aint no way that I’ll ever again be a practioner of that sort of fishing. I’m done with it.

I could say that I’ve caught so many trout over the years that catching just a few more on a cold day means nothing to me.
I could say a lot of things. I’m done with it. Don’t even ask me next year.

“You say they’re biting? Now?...but it's too cold! Yeah, I’m coming. Where’s my coat!”

1 comment:

  1. Old Timer,

    Let it be known that this "youngster" is no big fan of the cold either. Note that I waited 'till the first day to surpass 40 degrees in what seems like forever before I ventured west and I didn't step into the stream until the sun was high in the sky, or at least as high as it gets these days. Even at that, I was reminded what a wonderful thing fleece is. You'd have enjoyed it, my friend.

    And thanks for the kind words regarding my pics and prose. I only hope that some day they approach the beauty of your art.