under the rhododendron
the November trout.
I came up with that while on the way to stream in November, but it applies just as well to my last fishing trip of 2013. (We'll leave the words as the are, since the spirit of a haiku is ephemeral, and besides, "November" sounds better than "December.") This trip was on the 22nd, a bizarrely warm and misty day that set the local ski resort back. I set out to spend an afternoon on some fairly nearby Michaux streams.
The first was a small, wild trout water. The level was up, the walking good, and the brookies were ready to respond to a partridge and peacock beadhead.
I intended my next stop to be another small stream about a half an hour away. At the end of the gravel road I met a two other fisherman ready to start, something that has never happened to me outside of spring on any area mountain creek. I left the trail to them, and headed to a slightly bigger stream a few miles away. This is one I'd never fished before. I got the brown below after just a few casts, and that probably kept me fishing long after it was productive. As the afternoon drained away, mist came off the creek. A family or two walked by on the trail paralelling the creek, followed by quiet and then darkness appropriate for (almost) the longest night of the year.
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