Cold Water and Hot Coffee

Steam rises from the mouth of my favorite mug as I lock the door behind me. It’s a chilly winter morning, the sun has not yet began to rise, waking the restful world below. Most people are in bed, most are not on the water, this is my chance. A chance to seek solitude in the great unknown. As I enter my car, loaded with gear, I blow on my coffee and take my first sip. The earthy dark roast warms my core and fuels my body for the drive, and the day ahead. I pull out of the drive and point my car west toward the mountains, toward cold water, and winter trout. The early morning air is crisp, however unusually warm weather is pushing in bringing change, and change can bring trout in the net. I drive toward the mountains and watch as snow covered peaks sneak ever closer, closing the distance between the everyday me and the true wild soul inside myself. I follow twisting mountain roads lined with ice, winding through a canyon while my eyes drift to the rippling river below. Every spot has potential but I already have my spot in mind. As my journey takes me higher I pass trees, and rocks, all semblance of society melting away until there is only a stream, some trees, and the wild to keep me company. I reach a secluded pull off, the wind rushes through the trees sending a chill down my spine as I step out of my car and sip the last of my coffee.

Ice lines the banks of the river as a flow cuts through the ice providing the perfect opportunity at winter trout. I take a deep breath sucking in mountain air and releasing the stress of the world I left behind. I strap on my waders, lace up my boots, secure my vest, and take my rod in hand as I step out toward the river and a day on the water. The ice on the bank is thick enough to walk on, it crunches under my heavy boots as I take stock of the opportunities laid infant of me. A hard mile of exposed stream in the dead of winter with warmer air temps than normal, this is the kind of winter day I dream of while trapped in the monotony of everyday life. The ice on the bank covers a deep pool at the end of a heavy run, just the kind of place for a trout to hang out, protected and wait for a snack to drift by. I set my feet and pull out some line. My hand moves backward crisply stopping as it reaches my head, taking a brief moment to pause before shooting forwarded to another crisp stop, I take one more back cast as my line unfolds in a perfect loop before shooting my line toward the stream. The line lands gently led my two tiny flies. My indicator drifts down the stream catching the current as I watch my flies drift under the surface. The water is crystal clear, the low sun providing the opportunity to watch my drift and wait for a trout to strike.

I watch as my nymph drifts, silently through chilly water. I know my second fly follows closely behind yet I can’t see it, the tiny midge, a size 22  is too small for me to see even through ideal conditions, it maintains its stealth. I watch as a shape slithers from the icy, undercut pool, a trout inspecting my flies. The fish moves just a couple inches to where I can see it, contemplating the meal laid before it. My first fly drifts by as I watch the trout lock in. A breath passes and WHAM! Fish on! The trout fights as I set my hook, I feel my rod bend as the fish trashes trying to break free. The peaceful current is broken as the fish launches from the water splashing my face with ice cold, crisp, mountain water. The trout wears out, giving in as I pull it toward my net. I take the trout in my hand, admiring the colors and beauty of the winter rainbow. I lower my hand to the water and watch as the trout swims away, back to the icy hole it emerged from. I take a deep breath and look around, I am at peace among these trees.