Almost, Almost, Almost

I shouldn’t have gone fishing today. When I woke up, the wind was flying. Trees were tipping. Casting would be impossible. Besides, I had been fishing the past 9 days. Wasn’t it time for a break? I guess part of me told me there was a need to go. What would I say? What would I post? A nice story on fly tying, from the comfort of my home. But no, I had to go fishing. So it was settled, and I headed up Boulder Canyon. On arrival to my fishing hole, I was greeted by a man in a hard-hat. “Can’t fish here,” he said. “Blowing up a log jam in a few hours.” Great, another sign I shouldn’t be out here. But I was already here, so it had to be done. I made my way to another nice area a few minutes downstream, only to find that even the water levels in the canyon are high. How was I gonna fish now? But I went for it anyway. For the first twenty minutes, I thought I was going insane. I must have looked it, too. Talking to myself, yelling at bushes I would hook, laughing hysterically as I almost broke my leg on a rock. After enough of that, I got my groove back. Casts looked better, there was less talking to myself, and I was starting to see strikes. I was however, still working skunked. No fish. Zero. I laid a cast down into a nice little pool, took the drift, saw the strike, and set. Fish on, but just as quick, fish off. Crap! I moved on, and kept working for my fish. Finally, as my fly drifted into a good looking spot, my indicator went under. I had the fish on for a few seconds before he popped off. Double crap! I moved a few holes up, and found one more solid spot. I put my cast in, and waited. Something inhaled my dry. I set, fought the small fish for a few seconds, and brought him in. Skunked? No. Almost Skunked? Yes. After that fish, I decided to call it a day and come home to tie flies. I worked hard, learned a few things, and managed to find a fish. Oh, and I also got mild toe frostbite, severely cut up my legs on a sharp bush, and lost half a dozen flies. A great (?) day on the water.