The rain has yet to stop here. So much so that I have taken on the burden and terror of learning how to whitewater kayak in an effort to mentally reframe the unyielding water. It is just now, at the end of May, that Trout are waking enough to stir. I have a day off of whitewater instruction as it is my spouse’s turn to drench herself in the intrusive and exhausting adrenaline shot associated with hanging upside down in a plastic vessel on a river. Per her request, I was asked not “hang around the river” like a nervous parent. So, I went fishing. And to my surprise, the brookie train has arrived.

If measured by degrees, the water is still in its Easter dress. The trout are revealed by a beadhead, black woolly bugger sunk down deep and pulled sleepily over the deeper contours of lake.

It’s always a thrill to engage these big spotted trout while wading in gravel shallows, a vantage point that affords unobstructed visibility of each boomerang effort prior to netting.

Once I nail the rhythm (or lack thereof), the catching continued far later into the morning than trout are usually willing. Pulling the bugger with choreography as complex as teenagers slow dancing at a high school dance, I landed 10 of this fine brook trout in about an hour span.

Home for lunch, I get the call that she has made it down the first river run without incident. Good job, Maria!!! I am quick to express my gratitude for her “good judgement” in sending me to the lake this morning. I haven’t had an “incident” with big trout like this morning’s in quite a long time… thanks for not having me!