Relentless Pursuit

Today the skies wept, and fishermen smiled. . . except those who were outside fishing. These days, I find there is very little that can stop me from wetting a line. I'm starting to think that dementia has finally laid permanent residence in my psyche. Today, I stood waist deep in ice water, as the winds swept off Lake Erie turning my drift upstream. Torrential rain fell mercilessly as if Earth's gravitational pull had shifted, as it pelted me from the side. Handsome bars of chrome occasionally revealed themselves as they porpoised and rolled in the distance and out of reach.

I sometimes wonder what alien beings would think of our race if they were looking down on me (just one of the many things I ponder while fishing). You can thank me for keeping them guessing.

-8 Celsius, 3" of Snow, 1000 Calories Burned

As I made my way to my favourite Georgian Bay stream this morning, I watched the outdoor temperature reading steadily countdown to a bone chilling minus 8 degrees Celsius. The river bank wore a coat of white and the treetops sagged under the weight of fresh snow. As I stepped out of the car, the crisp, cold air jarred my senses and I was in awe of this winter wonderland. The wildlife was still asleep, or perhaps it was just too cold to move. I was pleased to see that my tracks would be the first to be imprinted on the powder canvas, as I made my way to the places I was dreaming of just a few hours ago.

I made my way through the dense brush, under and over fallen timber and overhanging branches, and hung on to anything within reach to avoid sliding down the steep icy bank. The river's bitter cold permeated the polypropylene, polyester and woolen layers as I stood thigh deep in water. Ice in the guides foiled any attempt at a perfect drift.

Moments before I was to turn into a snowman, my float meandered it's way down my favourite drift and began to twitch midway through. It paused momentarily and slipped under the surface. I knew it could be nothing else, and I raised my rod in exhaltation and the pulsing weight resonated through the graphite and into my arms. A flashing, irridescent beauty tumbled through the air, and all else was forgotten.

-8 degrees Celsius, three inches of snow, one thousand calories burned and one fiery hot fish to show for it - another superb day.

Precious Metal

Feels Like Home to me

Autumn at its Finest

What felt like minutes after closing my eyes for the night, my alarm clock bellowed its most unpleasant tune at 4:00 am, yet I was unusually alert.

The world was still asleep, yet conversation was alive with excitement and anticipation as we drove through the remaining hours of night.

We arrived at one of the most magnificent rivers in Western New York and found that vehicles from Pennsylvania, and New Jersey had preceded us. We did not meet this with disdain, but with admiration at their obvious love of this great pastime.

We stood streamside in the pre-dawn twilight and listened to the most pleasant sound of the flowing river, and nothing else. As the sun peered over its lowest reaches of the horizon, we made our first casts. Frost, frozen guides, and numb fingers dissipated as the warmth of one of the most pleasant days of autumn carried on.
> Our finned friends remained extremely finnicky throughout the morning and mid-day, but as the day wore on and the crowds began to thin, they rewarded us for staying around just a bit longer.


It was one of those days that I wished would last a couple. There are few things finer than a beautiful autumn day on the river with friends. The drive home was filled with stories from the day and plans to do it all over again soon.

I certainly look forward to it.