April 1 used to be opening day of trout season, and I still like to fish that day even though only a fool would be wading in frigid, icy water surrounded by snowbanks.
When I was a little kid, April 1 would often find me and my grandfather on Spring Brook or the Trout Pond, which was stocked with brookies. Equipped with a can of worms, bologna sandwich and orange pop, I'd fish for hours in hopes of a 6-inch trout impaling itself on my hook, which rarely happened.
When I was around 12, my dad would wake me up in the dark on opening day and we'd drive a few hours to fish for rainbow trout running out of the Finger Lakes to spawn. Fishermen would be lined up along Catherine Creek or Naples Brook, and we'd have to search for a place with some elbow room. I never caught anything on those trips, but I remember dad catching the biggest trout I'd ever seen. I also remember drinking bitter, hot coffee out of his Thermos, and stopping at a diner on the way home for a hamburger and milkshake.
Once I started driving, my opportunities on April 1 expanded to a 10-20 mile radius around my hometown. Usually, a friend and I would drive to bridges on local creeks and see if other cars were there - a sure sign that the hatchery truck had just been there. A fish fry of stocker rainbows and browns often followed those outings.
I fished a couple local lakes today that were partly melted off. As on most April 1 opening days in my life, my hands and feet got cold and I didn't catch anything - except memories of opening days past.
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