47

My birthday was a few days ago. In recent years, I have started the tradition of fishing, or a least thinking seriously of fishing, on the day. Given the effect of January weather on the mountain streams I fish most, the natural choice would be to drive to one of the spring creeks or tailwaters within an hour or so of home, but your home waters on your birthday are the place to be. 

This year was tough. It was the warmest day in over a week, but it still barely cracked 25F. I parked at a horse trailhead and bushwacked over the ridge and through the snow. The woods were quiet until I had gone deep enough into the valley that the ice-encumbered stream grew loud.  It was the only sound except when one winter foraging group of small birds passed through. The scene was almost monochrome until I noticed those few laurels and hemlocks and the occasional snow-free and rose-colored stone. It may go without saying, but no one had walked this way for a while.

Measured by fish caught, the afternoon was a failure. Fortunately I rarely measure an outing that way and never in January. I have hardly any history with this particular reach of stream, but the brook trout no doubt present but inactive in the near-freezing water ignored the fat Brooks Stonefly nymph that I dredged thoru the runs and pools, and I mostly walked the banks and took pictures. Around 4:00 the sky darkened and snow began to fall. I headed out to meet my wife for dinner at the Clay Oven in Frederick,  MD. Try the goat korma!

A fungus face?