|Posted by firstname.lastname@example.org on July 7, 2020 at 7:35 PM|
I am up to my wader belt in sixty-degree water. The sun is dancing on the surface, and the ripples are in and out of shade from the overhanging trees. A short waterfall is on my left, and a deep pool is in front of me and runs along the far bank on my right. I am casting a six weight rod and line with a caddis and sinking grees nymph set up. For me, this is about as good as it gets.
I get a rise in front of me at about 35 feet. Then a second. I cast and lay the fly about a foot in front of the last rise. The indicator starts its drift in the current. I can't feel the line, but the cork does its job and disappears with a hit. I lift my rod sharply and set the hook.
I reel in the excess line and start the dance. The fish runs for the bottom, then turns, then breaks the surface. We do these steps three or four times, each time I can bring in more line. As the fish tires, I get my net and look to bring the fish over its submerged opening.
The fly is barbless, as we fish catch and release, and for a second I let the line slack. In a flash, the fish spits the fly and is gone.
The pool grows still again. The waterfall the only sound. I check the fly, strip some line and cast back into the moving foam of the falls.
It does not matter if I catch a fish. It only matters that the soul restores in the attempt.
Prayer takes many forms.
That is the beauty of fishing.