Hurt So Good

What the hell am I doing here? It's a question that I ask myself nearly every time I'm waist deep in that gin-clear water and the trout are laughing at me. They're right there, in plain sight, sitting just below the surface, seemingly without a care in the world. Fly after fly visits the water via the end of my line and produces nothing. OK, that drift was bad, that little current pulled my line, that fly was too big, too flashy, too dull, that fish is blind in one eye. This GODDAMNED WIND! After a while it gets to be too much and that big rock in the sun looks like a great spot to sit for a while, so I do what anyone might do in this situation. Sit on the rock, eat a sandwich, and stare at those devil fish. This sucks. The dog's bored and staring at me as if to say "what's the matter with you, why aren't you catching anything?"

So I do the only thing I can really do in this situation. I finish my sandwich and tie up a different rig of absurdly small tippet and flies and hope this one works. There are bugs everywhere, on the water, in the air and up my nose. Usually, this makes fly selection easy. In this case, however, the miniature size and diversity of said bugs make it extremely difficult to narrow down just what the fish want. The size selection is easy, it's going to be the smallest thing I can find in my box. As far as color and shape, well, that's a different story entirely if you happen to be "prepared" for this sort of thing and have a bunch of different ludicrously small flies in there. Wasn't this supposed to be fun?

And then it happens. The one. Suddenly, whatever I just did worked and there's a spunky rainbow yanking my line through a maze of boulders, trying to break free. Nonsensical muttering ensues. "Nooo dont go that ok over he craaaap not the moss you basta yeah this nooooooo you don ok come this way and get..." Finally there's a fish in my net. It's not a monster by any means, but it's a fish. And suddenly I remember the answer to that question. This is why I'm here. Because that fish didn't come easy. Because four hours of beating my head against a wall finally paid off and I know what they want and how they want it. The dog's on her feet now, staring intently at the water, tail wagging with excitement.

We've all got those places that we return to. Whether it's a tiny spring creek or a particular turtlegrass covered flat, they have a pull on us. For some, it's the promise of lots of fish and constant action. For others, it's the promise of a challenge. Whatever the reason, we have to go back. We can try and resist, pushing the thought from our minds, going to different and exciting places, exploring new waters. But at some point, that place calls us back, and we must answer the call...