The boys and I and my friend Jason hit opening day of trout season on a reasonably-kept secret Finger Lakes stream again this past April first. I don’t know if two years counts as tradition, but I’m gonna say we’ve got the start of one on our hands. Once we traipsed past the set-up-camp-on-the-closest-damn-hole-to-the-road-and-dunk-the-hell-out-of-egg-sacks-and-worms crew, we found some space and water. And the snow flew. And the temps had the boys putting their hands in their armpits. And I have no idea how the fish we found made it to where we found them. And a video was made to the Beasties. Happy Father’s Day to all you dads out there.
Skiff full-on running out of Islamorada open water pounding wave to wave in the backcountry fleeting bottom playing tag rising and falling beneath our haul and current rip sprawling flat to white sand pothole to grass edge to channel to suddenly skinny water again and again four days in a row dockside coffee and painfully gorgeous sunrises bow to still blazing overcast-and-blue to slate gray and blackening skies clouds rising up and over dragging walls of rain blasting the water’s surface swallowing each key erasing each from the horizon south north west east sounding like the wind in the hardwood leaves of my northeast youth rod tips buzzing electrically current finding its obvious channel we don’t abide till evening sore backs or empty gas tanks force us grudgingly to the take out
Here we are four names from four corners that have become grateful handshakes beers laughs and stories here we are comrades in hard-fought long-ass patrols staring in shit light at likely expanses for tails shadows pushes nervous water fish that make you forget to breathe here we have discovered that time is nothing and timing is everything here we wade into the psychedelic sunset and gulf-side glass philosophy of fly proportions hypothesize about the geometry of presentations and 30 knot right-shoulder double-hauls theorize about instinct and the insanity that should ensue and consider the futility of our efforts reliving every short-strike follow spook snub blown shot or un-buttoned fish grateful for the few brilliant cold bodies we brought to hand here we may be humbled and mortal but here our souls have discovered immortality
Thanks need to go out to those Comrades mentioned above: Davin Ebanks (flatswalker.com), Bjorn Stromsness (bonefishonthebrain.com), Adrienne Comeau (femaleangle.blogspot.ca) and Eric Estrada (iamwaseone.com). Thanks also to Mark Richens of Thomas & Thomas Fly Rods for generously putting us up (and putting up with us) for the weekend and the fine folks at Skinny Water Culture and Fishpond for the gear.