Tag: writing
Following the threads
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I don’t remember exactly where the phrase first came up for me this year, the idea of following the thread. Likely in a random social post over on LinkedIn where I need to sound a weird mix of profound and professional. Even more likely is that I was talking about…
A momentary flash of brilliance
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Early September is a fun time to be on the water. The heat of the summer has died down, but it’s still warm enough to wet wade and fish dries. I’m at one of my favourite stretches of water and the fishing is great, as good as it gets, really.…
A brief encounter
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I’m in the middle of a stolen moment and fishing on the side of the road as I slowly make my way back home. I’ve been staring at this run for years, but have never fished in. But today I have the time. A pickup comes down the road, hauling…
Hoot owl blues
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I’d been here before. This exact same pool, the exact same fish, and the exact same feeling – “Just let me catch this fish before I call it a day… please?”. The difference was that the last time, I stopped fishing because it was time to call it a day.…
Beavers, brook trout, and bow casts
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There are two things that I don’t normally enjoy – early-season fishing and showing people my spots. Today I was doing both. To be fair, I wasn’t really showing someone my spots. I was fishing with another human, something that rarely happens. And, if I’m being really honest, these weren’t…
The tagalong
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For the most part, Supper Lake was off-limits to guests. It used to be the main lake for the lodge where my parents worked. But, as happens, it was fished a little too hard over the years, and, at the owner’s insistence, the lake was closed to all guests. We…
The indicator hatch
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I don’t normally count how many fish I catch and today was no different. I was, however, keenly aware of the fact that I was catching fish every few casts, while my brother hadn’t had so much as a whiff of interest. This never happened. My brother was a meticulous…
Looking for trout on Turkey Day
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“Catch anything?” I called out to the guy fishing down the creek behind me. I’d popped over to one of my usual spots to kill a bit of time while the turkey was cooking. I knew I’d see someone on the creek today, but hadn’t expected to find someone perched…
The same river twice
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“Having any luck?” the man asked. “I’ve managed to get into some trout,” I replied. “How about yourself, any luck?” “A few fly poops,” he said. “Nothing much more than that.” I had been watching the man sift through the dirt at the side of the river for a while…
The posthumous adventures of George Graw, fly fisher
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George Graw and I started fishing together about two months after his death. Although neither of us knew it at the time, George and I met towards the end of his life. We met through our local fly fishing club and got to know each other better once I joined…