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Darkess comes early in winter. By the time the pots on top
of the stove have started to boil and the bottle of wine has
been opened, blackness has covered the landscape. The
evening network TV news further intensifies the gloom, which
tends to overtake us during the short days and long nights of
winter in the Northern Rockes. Once finished with a warming
midwinter supper and continue with a slow paced evening, which
might include the normal domestic chores, a stroll to the fly tying
bench could be an option for the balance of the evening. The
drive to do so is really not there however. Still, a hook is put
into the vise. What scraps left on the fly tying table end up being
contributions to some new creation which may or may not ever
become attached to a piece of leader material.
We have survived the Christmas holidays, like most
fishermen, we patiently await the flood of catalogs, and fishing
magazines that we know will come soon. As sure as there is
a spring thaw, catalogs and magazines begin flooding the
mailbox. When evening comes, those "normal eveing chores"
are ignored and the time is spent curled up in a comfortable
chair instead. Each catalog page is thoroughly gleaned. We
tell ourselves how one day, no matter what, how that elegant
nine foot, six-weight rod and $400 reel will one day find they
are ours!
The magazines have stories of exotic places, photos of gigantic trout about
to be released. Chapters on fly tying reveal new materials, techniques,
and patterns. Some patterns are unique and some familair. In fact, you
see a fly that almost duplicates one you threw away a few evenings ago
because it looked so ridiculous. One of those tied from the trash still
on your fly tying table . . .(well, MY fly tying table.)
After the catalogs start looking like the pages of an airport
telephone directory used by thousands of people, and the
magazines have been read and re-read, the days have gotten
longer. Dinner is finished and it's still light outside. The added
light allows a trip into the garage and you start looking for your
fishing equipment which the family has managed to bury under
less important things. You discover you never took the time to
clean the flyline on the last reel you used and decide to take it into
the house and clean it, and the rest of your equipment. When
cleaning the flyline on your best reel, you become aware of cracks
because the soap just wasn't getting the dirt off the line. You also
think back and remember how difficult it was to keep that line
floating that last time you used it.
The catalogs come out again. Courage is mustered in preparation
to buy a new flyline. However, since this is serious business, it
will take time to research. Magazines are once again opened for
the reports on flyline performance. Then, after all the reading, the
only remaining thing to do is talk to a couple fishing buddies and
get their opinions even though you know this is a big mistake. But,
you do it anyway.
When you drove into your driveway today, you noticed the grass
was turning green. Dinner is a good half-hour away and it's still
light outside. As you close the car door and head for the house,
you hear a telephone ringing. "It's for your, Dear" your wife tells
you as you enter the house. An excited voice on the other end
tells you, "Would you believe there were a couple fo good hatches
on the river today? There were a gazillion rises too. Do you want
to go in the morning?"
Winter is over! You say to hell with a new flyline, this one will be
okay. Although you intended to patch the little pinhole you found in
your boots, you're going to use them anyway. After all, you can always
fix them later and will better know where the hole is.
Almost suddenly, you find you and your partner are on the
river. The sparkles of the sun on the water and the warmth
reflected onto your face, erase the memory of the recent long
cold winter nights and you ask yourself (as your boots indicate
there are more leaks than you thought, your line dressing
container is empty and your flyline is acting more like a fast
sinker instead of a floater,) What did I do with all my
time this last winter? ~ Don Cianca (aka Uncle Don)
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