We have had several days when the temperatures have been in the high 90's. I'm not sure how all those Kansas and Texas guys managed to send it this far north, but I guess I will need to be nicer to them.

We had a heavy thunderstorm hit our area. We received over 2 inches of rain in an hour. Then it rained for eight hours after that. I knew the water would be muddy, but it was a day off and time to head for a pond. I left the canoe at home because I knew I could not drive into any of the ponds. Also I did not want to hike into some because of the mud that I would have to go through.

I pulled the Jeep into the small Gravel parking area below the Skookumchuck Reservoir and shut off the engine. It was an odd weekday off so at this point it appeared I had the river to myself. A crisp clear late February morning which was heavily frosted. The field adjacent to the stream was blanketed with a 10 foot high layer of fog that was rising from the frost covered ground as the morning's sun began to warm the air.

The water that captivated me this weekend was not raging and engorging the landscape around it. It was low and thin, shadowy, emasculated from drought but still alive with motion.

It is partially spring-fed; it was cold, as was the air when we arrived, 53 degrees. It would not get above 65 all day, and a brisk north wind sent shivers up my spine from time to time.

The angler was heading home from work. The road was full of pot holes and he drove slowly and carefully, though eagerly as well. At the bottom of the hill was a bridge spanning a familiar creek. His wife and child weren't going to be home for a while so he had plans for this creek. He slowed down even more when the bridge came into view; with a smile on his face he stopped the truck on the bridge. It was a one lane bridge and there wasn't much traffic here. With a glance in the rear view mirror he knew he was alone as the truck came to a stop. He stepped out of the truck and leaned over the rail.

Thomas Snyder is 16 years old and lives in Shelburn, Indiana. He fishes in local lakes and ponds, and has been fly fishing for about 3 years. He bought a fly tying kit because his local fly shop closed up. He discovered FAOL and our readers have helped him learn new tying techniques and supplied him with material. This is his first submission to FAOL.

As the years of my life go by I have noticed that I observe more than what I use to. This has given me a better inside look at some people I meet and some that I have known for some time. The increased observation on my part has kept me from posting as often as I use to because I feel I can see a post in a different light than most and it has been an "eye-opening" experience and I feel a good one that makes it easier and less stressful for me to deal with others and, hopefully, answer their questions with answers that they are asking for.

In the world of fly fishing the fly rod has become something akin to a magic wand. I think that Gierach had it right when he coined the phrase "standing in the water waving a stick." It seems to be a well-accepted fact that the fly rod makes the angler, when in fact it's the angler that makes the fly rod.

I received a phone call from a relative of an old man that had recently passed away and wondered if I could come over and give him some idea of the worth of some fly fishing items. I'm not an expert on such things but I told him that I would be willing to take a look and give him some idea about the value of the various items. I made arrangements to meet with him and he gave me directions to the residence where the old man had resided before his death.

Since I recently wrote about survival in the Sonoran Desert, it's only fair and fitting to title this one Oasis. We spent most of the day today, Thursday the 17th of November, in mild 70 degree weather at the Reid Park Zoo in metropolitan Tucson.