I looked in my box of nymphs and thought of a fishing report I read from the local fly fishing club. The members had been having success fishing a stonefly nymph and San Juan worm, what they call a turd and a worm. Being somewhat of a purist, I didn’t feel comfortable fishing this so-called rig. Maybe the Latin translation would sound more scientific and I could justify fishing it: “excrementis et vermis,” wow, that sounds worse.
I decided on a zebra midge and pheasant tail nymph. I got started fishing a nice run with no luck. Moving upstream I found a nice riffle with a slow run below it. Every time my indicator paused I lifted the rod to set the hook on what was usually the bottom.
Eventually, I set and felt the tug of something alive at the end of my line. After a short battle, an 11” inch rainbow came to hand. I breathed a sigh of relief having finally caught a fish. It was at that moment I realized how tightly wound I’d been.
I was so obsessed with catching a January fish. I forgot to enjoy myself. It was nice to just be out and away from the noise and tumult of society. Who cares if I catch a trout in January. I stopped took a deep breath and took in my surroundings.
The sun was shining brightly and felt warm on my face. Even though I’d forgotten gloves my hands weren’t cold. The sky was a deep blue which made a perfect background for the snow-capped peaks of the Bitterroot mountains. I continued to work upstream hitting likely runs where I’d caught fish in summer.
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