Someone once said to me "Steve it's not always just about the fishing......
That counsel was offered me during a time when I started taking fly fishing seriously, a time when my thoughts were dominated with not only the trout I sought for, but the science, and entomology behind the food sources they so desired.
I was acquiring knowledge quickly, and began producing results on stillwaters that far surpassed any of my previous endeavours.
Often I dominated a conversations on fishing explaining chironomids, or the difference between gammarus, and hyalella scuds, to men that just wanted to talk fishin, and the good times they associated with it. When I was included on a fishing trip with such ones, I wasn't much fer hanging around camp with family, and friends. Instead I separated myself to the water, or to my ideas, and calculations of what would produce fish in the morning.
I had become perhaps a little too serious, and that's when I was told, "Steve its not aways just about the fishing.....sometimes when your out with friends, all that matters is you talked, and laughed and sat down, and finished the bottle together, while enjoying the company.
Even though I've tamed down a bit since then, those words never really fully resonated with me for a handful of years to come, until this fall of 2015
I was eager to try out a new lake I had learned of in the Kane Valley, and after packing the van with meager provisions of sleeping gear, fishin gear, whiskey, and an ice cream pail worth of hamburger helper, I kissed the wife good by, and left to tame the Englishman.
I arrived mid morning to a glorified pull out alongside the lake that somehow managed to house three large fifth wheels on the left side, and an old jeep, and one man tent on the right.
I stepped out of the van to face a cold north east wind, that left only one man on the water, cursing wind knots, and snarls in his tippet.
"That's my buddy Charles" an approaching voice admitted, "he aint gonna get nothin, it's too shitty out, I'm Glen" he said.
We exchanged pleasantries, and started talkin fishin. Before I knew it we had been talking and hour or so, and I hadn't even off loaded my skiff. It was a good gab but I couldn't wait to get on the water. I set up the boat, threaded my rods, heated up a bowl of the hamburger helper, and waited for the wind to dull. I welcomed Charles to shore soon after, as the weather showed no sign of letting up. Charles was a heavy set fella with an infectious grin. A bit rough round the edges, but an easy friend. Glen was the other side of things, a stick in boots, with a beard that any horse logger would admire.
We spent the morning, and afternoon around the fire exchanging stories, and tactics until the wind finally ceased at dusk, allowing us to do what we came to do, .....Fish!
It was a good evening with Glen taking the largest blackwater at 28 inches. When back at camp we talked some more round the flame, and passed the bottle round, with the odd lager in between.
The next two days held nothing in store for us except that relentless, bitter north east wind with one short calm window on the last day of about two hours.
During those two days I finally excepted "Steve it's not always just about the fishing".... and because of that I enjoyed one of my best fishing trips to date, along with Glen, and Charles, cranking golf balls across the lake, losing Glens 9 iron to the drink, listening to Charles pointing out the features of his jeep, giving Glen an all round hard time, joking, laughing, enjoying the company and along the way.......
We finished the bottle.
That counsel was offered me during a time when I started taking fly fishing seriously, a time when my thoughts were dominated with not only the trout I sought for, but the science, and entomology behind the food sources they so desired.
I was acquiring knowledge quickly, and began producing results on stillwaters that far surpassed any of my previous endeavours.
Often I dominated a conversations on fishing explaining chironomids, or the difference between gammarus, and hyalella scuds, to men that just wanted to talk fishin, and the good times they associated with it. When I was included on a fishing trip with such ones, I wasn't much fer hanging around camp with family, and friends. Instead I separated myself to the water, or to my ideas, and calculations of what would produce fish in the morning.
I had become perhaps a little too serious, and that's when I was told, "Steve its not aways just about the fishing.....sometimes when your out with friends, all that matters is you talked, and laughed and sat down, and finished the bottle together, while enjoying the company.
Even though I've tamed down a bit since then, those words never really fully resonated with me for a handful of years to come, until this fall of 2015
I was eager to try out a new lake I had learned of in the Kane Valley, and after packing the van with meager provisions of sleeping gear, fishin gear, whiskey, and an ice cream pail worth of hamburger helper, I kissed the wife good by, and left to tame the Englishman.
I arrived mid morning to a glorified pull out alongside the lake that somehow managed to house three large fifth wheels on the left side, and an old jeep, and one man tent on the right.
I stepped out of the van to face a cold north east wind, that left only one man on the water, cursing wind knots, and snarls in his tippet.
"That's my buddy Charles" an approaching voice admitted, "he aint gonna get nothin, it's too shitty out, I'm Glen" he said.
We exchanged pleasantries, and started talkin fishin. Before I knew it we had been talking and hour or so, and I hadn't even off loaded my skiff. It was a good gab but I couldn't wait to get on the water. I set up the boat, threaded my rods, heated up a bowl of the hamburger helper, and waited for the wind to dull. I welcomed Charles to shore soon after, as the weather showed no sign of letting up. Charles was a heavy set fella with an infectious grin. A bit rough round the edges, but an easy friend. Glen was the other side of things, a stick in boots, with a beard that any horse logger would admire.
We spent the morning, and afternoon around the fire exchanging stories, and tactics until the wind finally ceased at dusk, allowing us to do what we came to do, .....Fish!
It was a good evening with Glen taking the largest blackwater at 28 inches. When back at camp we talked some more round the flame, and passed the bottle round, with the odd lager in between.
The next two days held nothing in store for us except that relentless, bitter north east wind with one short calm window on the last day of about two hours.
During those two days I finally excepted "Steve it's not always just about the fishing".... and because of that I enjoyed one of my best fishing trips to date, along with Glen, and Charles, cranking golf balls across the lake, losing Glens 9 iron to the drink, listening to Charles pointing out the features of his jeep, giving Glen an all round hard time, joking, laughing, enjoying the company and along the way.......
We finished the bottle.