Henry David Thoreau once said, “Many go fishing all their lives without knowing that it is not fish they are after." Following a sub-par fishing weekend, that thought is comforting to say the least.
While I’m sure that a fly fishing weekend is not exactly how my new wife envisioned her first married Valentine’s Day, I’m sure she expected it to happen at some time. Fortunately the comfort of the River's Bend Lodge was some consolation. But as we stood cold on the icy banks of the Yellowstone at the trailing midge patterns through beautiful, yet tough to access, riffles, I think she understood my passion just a little bit more.
We stood staring up at Emigrant Peak with both of us wondering why we were still out trying. I questioned my fly choice, my drift, and my method. She no doubt questioned some of her choices as well.
Finally a sympathetic Brown trout, maybe a three pounder, took the edge off and took the Midge. As I started to bring the fighter in closer, I noticed a little icy build-up on my wife’s eyelash. This was one cold woman and one foolish man.
The Brown readily gave in and I returned the favor by smoothly returning him to the depths, thankful that I’d taken the time to bend the barbs on the flies. My wife, seeing her husband satisfied with his catch knew the cold day was over.
As we walked back to the Rivers Bend Lodge I think we both knew a little bit more about what Thoreau was trying to say.
While I’m sure that a fly fishing weekend is not exactly how my new wife envisioned her first married Valentine’s Day, I’m sure she expected it to happen at some time. Fortunately the comfort of the River's Bend Lodge was some consolation. But as we stood cold on the icy banks of the Yellowstone at the trailing midge patterns through beautiful, yet tough to access, riffles, I think she understood my passion just a little bit more.
We stood staring up at Emigrant Peak with both of us wondering why we were still out trying. I questioned my fly choice, my drift, and my method. She no doubt questioned some of her choices as well.
Finally a sympathetic Brown trout, maybe a three pounder, took the edge off and took the Midge. As I started to bring the fighter in closer, I noticed a little icy build-up on my wife’s eyelash. This was one cold woman and one foolish man.
The Brown readily gave in and I returned the favor by smoothly returning him to the depths, thankful that I’d taken the time to bend the barbs on the flies. My wife, seeing her husband satisfied with his catch knew the cold day was over.
As we walked back to the Rivers Bend Lodge I think we both knew a little bit more about what Thoreau was trying to say.
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