There are days that I can't keep my mind off of the perfect drift and how my mend is starting to improve with practice. I can hear the rushing water, and often times, it is what helps me fall asleep. I can feel the pressure of my waders being pushed against my legs while I swing a streamer through a very fishy looking riffle and micro-pool created by a large bolder just beyond it. Today was one of those days. Finally having the time to do some administrative stuff that I've been needing to do, I thought I'd really be able to relax and get into the groove and flow of doing what I do best - making technology work. Instead, as I'm tidying up an SQL statement to export data from one database into a format that allows it to be imported into another database without completely screwing up the second database, I drifted off to that place where fish rise to large dry flies in February and no one has ever heard of - let alone needed - a nymph.
I'm not sure what triggered it - was it my great day of top water fishing yesterday? Was it the monotony of writing SQL case statements for hours on end? I'm not sure, really. All I know is that it kept me to being only moderately productive and I never could hit "the zone" that I often can get into while doing that sort of thing.
A few nights ago, after another unsuccessful trout fishing trip, I had a dream. The dream was that I was on a famous river that I've visited many many times, floated down, waded miles of, and am becoming quite familiar with at this point. I was in a spot that I had never seen before and looked very Irish... you know... damp, long, lush green grass sprouting from dark earth filled with ancient stones. Deep undercut banks with the telltale eddies and slick water and free stone, fast current, riffly sections in the center, leading into deep pools at every bend. Pretty much the perfect trout water for all three major species in the Northeast the US. In this dream, I was casting caddis flies just outside the undercut banks and having consistent rises by football shaped brook trout, all in the 12" range but very fat. In my dream I landed 2 and missed countless other hook sets but I was happy and began to relax. I've never gotten comfortable with trout fishing. Its a beautiful, wonderful part of our sport that really can challenge both physical, but also mental prowess as you're in their element trying to convince them that what you're casting is going to taste as good or better than its real-life counterpart less than 6 inches away. It really should be relaxing and falling into that same zone that I can fall into while casting at boiling panfish (bass included) or writing SQL statements.
It's confidence. I have basically no confidence in my trout fishing abilities. Sure, I've caught trout - 4 - but not on a frequent enough basis to really ever get comfortable. I can go out bass or sunfish fishing, get skunked, and not feel like I've lost my touch. I don't get shaky with excitement when I hook a warm water fish (except pike family, and I'm sure on my first walleye). I had buck fever when I saw rising trout back in May and nearly blew the perfect opportunity at rising rainbows that were freshly stocked and very hungry. That still happens now, but only with trout.
Those fish haunt me - its amazing that a stupid fish, probably weighing less than a pound in most cases, has the ability to bring a grown man to his knees emotionally. Its amazing that I've lost so much confidence with them that I no longer follow through with my drifts or swings. My friend Al told me that, on our last fishing trip, he noticed that I simply gave up about mid way through the swing. Every time a fish hit my lure - and that was many times over the course of the wade - I missed the hook set because it caught me off guard. I had been defeated before I put my two-piece rod together.
I don't know what all of this means, but it was time to wax philosophical on fishing and my own obsession with it. Isn't that what fly fishing bloggers are supposed to do?
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