It's Good to be Retired

My intentions are always good but life seems to derail even the best of them. Such is the case with my intention to hit Clear Creek on a regular basis over the winter. I made that decision in all innocence, but then came the holidays, unforeseen family responsibilities, the Polar Vortex, and sporadic high water. There might have been an instinctive urge to hole up in a warm den until spring mixed in there, too.

But I finally made it to the creek. It was just four days after the sub-zero temps of the Polar Vortex, and we looked outside and couldn't believe what we saw: the sky was blue and sunny and the temperature was climbing toward a high in the 60's. So I packed up and struck out for the creek.

I didn't know what I would find. I expected high water but instead encountered low water. I expected shelf ice but instead found a thin and rapidly melting edge of ice. It was almost like spring. I even heard some high-flying Sandhills passing over.

I fished the deepest hole I know, covering the long curving bend as well as I could. With the low water I could wade out far enough to get a good backcast and bounce the fly off the rocks on the other side. There have been days here when that tactic brought the biggest smallies I've caught here so far.

I had tied up a few streamers in anticipation of this day and this white Marabou Muddler was the fly I was counting on.

No dice. It got down well and swam so pretty, but it yielded no results.

I went back upstream, tied on a little sparkly Woolly Bugger, and started another pass. I tucked a cast into the shade to the left of the abutment and felt a little bump. I slowed down the swing and went on high alert. All the way through the swing I felt more little bumps as the fish followed the fly. But no takes. I proceeded to comb that stretch with that fly as skillfully as I was able. Then I switched to other flies and gave them a try. But those little bumps would be the closest I would come to a fish that day.

I fished on downstream. 

Then a man and a woman came around the bend ahead of me. They looked like students from the university. The man was fine, but the woman, even though she saw me fishing and coming her way, started throwing stones into the water. Highly predictable but still thoughtless behavior. But by then I felt I had given it the old college try, so I waded out and headed for the truck and let them enjoy the stream their way.

By the way, did I mention it was a Sunday? I wasn't the only one who had come out into the sun like groundhogs that day. It was crowded when I got there, and when I got back to the parking area I counted 14 vehicles. That's an all-time record. I was lucky to have as much time to fish alone as I did.

I decided to be grateful for that and to come back soon on a day when most people would be at work or school. It's good to be retired.