Be careful what you wish for. . .

2 mysterious fellows doing something mysterious

When I concluded my last entry with ruminations of a prompt arrival of Old Man Winter, had I known that he was a blog reader, I may have thought twice about my literal recklessness. Within a week, he cast his spell over the land and locked the doors to our wintering Steelhead.

Last year was a steep contrast, as we were blasted with bone-brittling Arctic weather unseasonably early. But just as fast as it arrived, it was gone, and by this time last year, the icy canopies that blanketed our rivers had retreated.

Today, the doors to our rivers are still locked and I'm now past the stages of withdrawal, denial, and psychosis. Mind you, I still have the occasional dream where I'm battling super-charged chrome bullets, chocolate chip and caramel Brown Trout, and bulldogging gems of the stream Brookies with remarkable brilliance; a brilliance only ever seen in , well, my dreams.

Unfortunately, this is as close to wetting a line I've been since the first week of January. I've tried wholeheartedly to embrace the ice, the snow and the sub-zero air by strapping myself to two boards and barrelling down mountainsides uncontrollably, and this has helped somewhat.

Meanwhile, Dave W has been burrowing holes in the snowy desert and patiently sitting over them with a stick 1/13 the length of the traditional float rod. This endeavour has yielded some very impressive catches of Whitefish and Lake Trout. He has me intrigued. I think I might try it.

Stay tuned.