We fished the Methow River early in the day yesterday and it was like no other day we have spent on the river here. We launched the boat around 6AM and immediately caught cutthroat. I think we were somewhat shocked by our success because this is a difficult river to fish. We usually catch a few fish each and have long, dry stretches of quiet, dead water.
Yesterday, all day long, the river was fishing hot!!! Or maybe I was offering up perfect presentations. Or maybe those fish simply loved all the hoppers I brought home with me from a fly shop in Missoula. I don’t know. I felt touched by the very hand of God, and if you recall, Jesus was a fisherman, too…and I’m pretty sure that when he wasn’t using nets he had a fly rod in his hands.
And so it went.
The fishing was good.
The fishing was good yesterday, but even when the fishing isn’t good, the fishing is still good.
Even when you’ve lost all your best flys to lunkers and trees, it’s still good.
Even when you realize you forgot your spool of tippet and you have to tie onto your leader, it’s still good.
Even when it pours for seven hours and you can’t feel your feet, it’s still good.
Even when you manage to make two bird nests of your line in a span of three minutes, it’s still good.
Even when you’re hungry and your stomach is gnawing on itself, it’s still good.
Even when everything you catch is six inches long, it’s still good.
Even when you snap a rod tip, it’s still good.
Even when your birddog falls out of the boat and terrifies you by swimming towards you and eventually gets sucked under the boat in a line of thick whitewater, it’s still good.
Even when you don’t catch a single fish, it’s still good.
It’s always and forever good.
That’s why we do it.
Because it’s good, and because it lets us sidle up to nature, watch the hawks, eagles and osprey, feel the sun and wind and rain on our faces, watch the moose swim through deep water, see the white-tailed deer bounding, and of course, if we work hard, we get to gently handle something that is royal and pure and glorious and worthy of a good fight.
I caught a cutthroat, yesterday, that made my arm ache and gave me a bruise on my stomach where I wedged the butt of my fly rod while I was walking that thin line of letting him run and reeling him in — it hurts a little when I laugh and the memory of him flashing silver in deep water each time he turned his back to me and made a run for freedom will hold strong in my mind and heart for a good long while.
Robert, well, he caught the king of the river and we all bowed down.