Winter and what passes as spring can be painfully slow and cruel to the angler. I had anxiously waited for the opportunity to ply some small freestone stream for a trout. The catch? Would there be any clear water to fish? Most of our nearby rivers had already blown. The small creeks likely not far behind.
A short drive would put me in touch with an old friend, a little stream that I'd neglected for so many years. I stood in this same spot, some thirty plus years ago. It was the same Saturday in May. The traditional opening day for fishing our small Montana streams.
Up early, I arrived at the stream and found it quite fishable, a pleasant surprise. Near heaven, it was the most perfect of mornings. I've said it before. Give me a fifty degree day, overcast and light mist. What could be better?
The first pool produced a fish on the first cast. The next three casts resulted in solid hookups with streamside vegetation. One tree and two bushes. Not bad, four casts and four hookups. I had a few kinks to work out as it had been a while since I'd fished in tight quarters. Casting? Well, really it wasn't. More of a flip and a short drift. Didn't matter……..
The little rainbows were still there. Ready and willing, they were spirited little jewels.
Not much had changed in the passing decades.
With a little help from above, maybe I'll be back in another thirty years.