Spring Rain

It is raining out. It is an early spring rain, the kind that isn't quite certain if it wants to be rain, snow, or something in between. The sky is that grey that looks like beached carp three days dead. Even the loons are hunkered down on our little lake, stoically maintaining.

I sit at my computer looking at pictures of last year's trout adventures, laughing, sighing, dreaming. I watch as the Department of Natural Resources fishery personnel pull in their survey nets just off of the rocky point adjacent to our beach. They call it Maggie's point after our golden retriever, because, as they explained, they can locate it easily enough, as our dog has stood off the far end of the point barking in greeting every year for the last 5 years. I watch as they throw her a handful of small "Milk Bone" dog treats. She scampers into the water and retrieves as many as she can before they get too soggy and sink below the surface of the water.

I have spent the last few weeks, when I can, hiking along some of my favorite trout streams, watching the progress of the coming of spring. I make note of some of the changes that have occurred since last year, observing in some cases that what once was a tantilizing rock structure has now all but disappeared due to the spring run-off. I record the changes, take pictures of some, simply note down others. It will be interesting to see how the fishing has been affected due to these changes. That is what I like about stream fishing. It is never the same experience no matter how many times you fish the same location.

I just saw the vixen who lives up the road , carrying a rabbit in her mouth. I will have to check the den again to see if she has kits, as she has been gone from her normal routine for about a week. Maggie keeps an eye on her, but has never interfered with the fox as it passes through our forest to her den. Maggie has never been leashed or penned, so she has had ample opportunity to chase and otherwise, harrass the fox. I wouldn't be surprised to one day find Maggie out in the backyard playing with the kits as the vixen stands around watching. It would be just like Maggie.

One of the loons has just expressed its displeasure at the sight of a newly arrived eagle flying over the lake. Since these loons are nesting here-- (and there has been a nesting pair with a least one chick for over 10 consecutive years) --it appears that the eagle is getting a heads-up on what hunting opportunities exist. We have watched the drama play out numerous times over the last 10 years between the loons and the eagles. Some years the eagle has won; others, the loons. There is nothing right or wrong about it; it just is.

Well, I think I will close for now and go off to tie some more emergers, nymphs, and dry flies; and dream of warm sunshine, soft breezes, and the joy of being alone with the "...art that is performed on a four-count rhythm between ten and two o'clock." (A River Runs Through It, by Norman Maclean).

Vaya con Dios