Warmer weather and wind has opened up many of the waters since then, however, giving me the chance to cast some line in between pheasant hunts.
Last weekend, I hit the river and found some ice along the banks that was solid enough to support my weight. Mostly, I lost flies on sloppy casting thanks to gloves, cold hands and carelessness. As I reached the end of the public water, no fish had cooperated yet. But in the last decent hole, with a No Trespassing sign staring at me, a brown trout finally came out to play. I netted him, took a quick photo, and released him into the icy water. I wondered if he was the last fish of the year for me.
As it turned out, fishing season wasn't ready to end yet. On a local lake that had humbled me on my last two outings, another brown trout, this time a female still full of eggs, took a purple leech just as my cold feet and I were about to call it quits today.
Flyfishing at this time of year is like living on borrowed time. You are thankful for each day of open water. But you know winter is coming.
