it's over

No time left for Salmon or Lake Trout. I spent my last evening from shore tonight. I was bored. As much as I wanted to bring some fish home, repetitiously chucking hardware was not satisfying in the least bit. It's funny that I could spend an entire day on the water with my fly rod in hand, not catch a thing, and be entirely satisfied. Well, kind of. I mean I would be disappointed that I didn't make a connection with a fish, but having that long rod in my hand just feels natural. The movement of the fly line dancing across the water, synchronized with my thoughts and desires, plays like a symphony. It just works for me.

I love angling. I'll take an opportunity with any type of rod over most anything. I may even be successful utilizing these other styles. But something is lacking. There is no fluidity. It's not visceral. There's no connection.

I lasted two hours on the break wall casting a spoon to lakers before throwing in the towel. Light breeze, small waves, partly cloudy; the weather was perfect. My heart wasn't in it. I thought to myself that I had a better time picking agates, so I packed up my gear and headed for the beach. I spent the rest of the evening hunting for Lake Superior agates on the shores of the big lake. I was satisfied. I've amassed an impressive agate collection over the past few weeks up here. I managed to find two incredible specimens this evening in the waning hours of daylight. Nice.

I suppose when I get home, I'll finally put away the spinning rods that have been left standing in my mudroom, abandoned since spring. It's not to say that they'll never be touched again, anything is possible, but they'll likely not see much use by me down the road. It's been a relationship that has slowly drifted apart between the years. Fortunate for me, I'm not subject to custody or visitation rights. Sure, I'll grab my ice rods come ice-up; it's pretty difficult to fly fish through the ice. I suppose I could rough it and fish the tailwater at Orwell. But thirty below temps and fly lines don't go together well. That wasn't including wind chill. I realize that there are some nicer days than that during the winter, but the period of recharge is akin to a sabbatical. Spending time away from the fly rod makes me enjoy it and appreciate it more. Besides, chasing roughfish through the ice can be a blast. I hope to make a dent in the tullibee population this winter. However, one thing is for certain. There's no doubt about it:

I AM A FLY FISHER.