A FAREWELL TO WINTER by Matthew Novak

THE TEXT MESSAGES BASICALLY WENT LIKE THIS:

“I can’t shovel anymore.”
“You still alive.” “If I wasn’t I’d be less annoyed by snow.”
“This is NEVER going to end.”
“Can I quit life?”

North-East Winter was exceptionally tough this year. Nothing record shattering, but some record lows mixed in with a February snowier than I’ve ever seen before meant John and I were pretty stir crazy the past few months. Winter fishing became a distant possibility after the first few storms blocked access to any open streams, and then the wobbly vortex sent artic air south and any water that was open, was open no more.

We fished for a while

There wasn’t a lot going on for most of the creek. Water was lower than we’d expected, and there wasn’t even the slightest hint of a take. You tell yourself its ok, even if you don’t get anything it’s still great to be out on the water, which is true… But there is a fuse in everyone who fishes that is lit after a few hours of nothing on the end of the line but leaves and sticks.

I started chalking it up to it being Friday the Thirteenth and all and convinced myself it was alright, and that I was stoked to be out in the warm (warm is of course comparatively speaking to the -6º weather we had recently). But my fuses was nearing its powder keg. Fortunately, we were both able to bring a really nice Brown Trout to net this day, mine (pictured below measure somewhere around 17 inches, my biggest trout to date. I landed this beautiful fish on a pheasant tail nymph on a TenkaraUSA Sato rod At first, I nearly lost my mind and reached for the reel at the end of the rod that didn’t exist, but a few deep breaths and everything worked out just fine.

The Skunk Saver

Right before I had caught my fish, John had turned over a bigger one close by. It spit the fly, and it was over. He looked upstream to a large boulder and said “When we get there, we’ll head back.” I knew it wouldn’t really mark the start of the season and a true death to winter unless we both walked out of the water winning. Just as that thought began to linger, a small boil of water occurred 5 feet in front of me, and John sent his rod-tip skyward. The Brown lept from the water once, and as if knowing he’d been bested, he was in the net within a few seconds.

In My Head

We celebrated like Rocky Balboa and Apollo Creed on the beach. In reality, it was some great high fives and a cheery walk back to the car. I’m looking forward to 2015 and all the fish, adventures and new places we’ll get to see.