Strong Finish
Pap-Pap took Jr. to camp for a couple of days to get some miles on the dogs. Winterfest kicks off the racing season and is only 18 days away (sure hope we get back all the snow we lost). Santa was good to Jr., though, and he had to be back in time to use those Winter Classic tix the Jolly Ol' Elf brought him. So I made the journey North on Thursday afternoon to, well, retrieve my son. Took advantage of a mid-day arrival to get in a little father-son muzzleloading...and got skunked.
On Friday, I figured I'd run down to Kinzua Ck DHALO and give the fly rod one last 10-and-2 in 2010. Stopped at the "poacher" hole. Froze up solid. But there was good mostly open water to be found downstream, so I made my way down the bank. Found a hole that just "looked like it should" and decided to try it. Wanted to fish the big rock on the right bank, but the left side of the creek was still very frozen and tapered wide as the hole grew in size. So I cautiously waded up the "V" in the creek and stopped shy of the hole. Snapped on one of the pink and peach eggs I had tied and cast upstream. It drifted slowly along the icy ledge in front of the rock. Slowly retrieving slack line, I watched as a little creek chub tried in vain to tackle the egg. Well, if nothing else, the dumbest fish in the creek thought my egg was real.
The thud of loose ice drifting under the ice shelf made an ominous sound like desperate fists against a muted window. An episode of Criminal Minds came to thought..."This is so cool," I told myself.
Another cast upstream, right down the center of the hole. Halfway through the drift and "ZING." The reel started screaming. No creek chub here. Set the hook and wrestled with the trout, thinking to myself "Dangit, I left my camera at home." A passerby saw battle and pulled off the road to observe the spectacle. I swung around and gently landed the fish on the wet ice shelf behind me. Held my breath, took a quick pic with my phone, a twist of the forceps, and without more than a gentle nudge, he was back in the water and darting under the ice ledge before I needed to breathe.
The spectator gave a congratulatory beep and a wave. I smiled and timdly tipped my hat in thanks.
Granted, it was not something Charlie Meck would write about. But I was proud. I was happy. And I stood in that creek doing a funky little white man's dance. Snapped on a little black stonefly and gave it another thirty minutes. My toes started telling me it was time to go...and I listened.
Back at the ride, I stripped off my pack, changed out of my waders, and sat on the bumper for a minute. Lots of "first time" memories in 2010: First year fishing with a fly rod...first trip to the tribs and Jr.'s first steelhead...first time outings with Catchinfish, Bings, and Doubletaper...MY first steelhead...first catch on a self-tied fly...and the first time I EVER fished for trout in a stream on the last day of of the year. I zipped my rod case closed, gave the top a little pat, and said, "Way to finish strong...we did pretty well this year."
May 2011 bring you many proud and exciting "First Time Memories."