With that rant/explanation/precursor out of the way - I decided that it would be a perfect day to fish as most of the world would be recovering from the previous nights festivities and I would have the entire river to myself and for the most part, I was right.
|White River 270 Fly Rod - 9' 8wt with a large arbor reel|
Not being one to let things get in the way of my plans, I decided to press on anyways. The little guy's Grandma and Great-aunt were coming over to keep him and Mom company so I decided to take advantage of the opportunity in spite of the less than favorable conditions. I grabbed the waders, fly box, the new 8wt and bravely went out into the tundra.
The wind was fierce, the air was cold, and it even started to flurry a bit. As I left my warm and cozy truck to head off into the wilderness, I was almost instantly reminded that though I was the only person out there, I was not alone. A small group of deer stopped in their tracks to see what I was doing as I made my way down one of many trails they had probably created. I, too, stopped to watch them, watch me. After a minute, they calmly continued on their way as I did too. It gave me hope that the animal world was alive and perhaps even the scaled and gill bearing vertebrates would be as well. That glimmer of hope was short lived as an angry wind howled through the woods and finished what a beaver had started as a massive tree creaked and cracked it's way to the forest floor not more than twenty feet from me. It was a close call but strangely, not my first in those particular woods.
|The scenery can be amazing just outside of Chicago|