Heed this warning: if you don't like listening to people rant and rave, stop reading this right now. Kristy, Logan and I went back to River Falls early Thursday morning to spend some time with my family and of course I had intentions of fishing. So far so good. Upon arrival, I was a little bummed to see that the Rush was mud again and probably wouldn't fish very well, but hey, that's the way it goes. So I made my way to my favorite little brook trout stream and decided to fish a stretch that I hadn't fished in years, a stretch that had recent "improvements" done to it. I pulled into the handy little advertisement, I mean parking area, and strung up my rod and noticed that the fence that divided the public land and the private land went down to and across the river. Odd, I thought, but there was surely a way to get to the river, like a gate or section of fence that was omitted in the interest of four-hundred dollar waders. But there wasn't. Sure, you could slide down the bank and walk the river but the damn barbed wire fence went right down to the water and was chest high at the top strand. Now, I understand that the improvements done to the stream are as much or more for the fish than the fisherman, but why improve a stretch that no one can enjoy? Sure, you could risk your waders and slide through the fence but you'd have to stay in the water or you'd be trespassing. And staying in the water, in my opinion, is a horrible idea for this stream. Most of this stretch is no more that five feet wide and part of the improvement work that was done was the planting of water cress and other plants to help oxygenate the water. Now, you send fifty or a hundred and fifty people walking up and down that stretch or river over the next seven months and imagine how well those plants will root and the damage done to the soft bottom of the stream bed. In the areas that are public, I don't think I've ever seen anyone walking the stream, other than stepping in to land a fish. The only comforting aspect of this situation is the fact that the stream, for it's location, isn't fished all that hard. That said, Thursday was a great day. I caught a lot of beautiful, wild brook trout that were full of fight. Friday morning I awoke to see that the ground was once again covered in snow. Weird. What made me a bit hesitant was the fact that the snow was coming down sideways. However, I again headed to the brook trout stream. The water had cleared a great deal overnight and the fish were all over my flies. I had, however, forgotten what it was like to try to hit a five foot wide stream in twenty mile an hour wind gusts. However, the fishing was so outstanding that I hardly noticed it. I did notice that I had snow building up inside the bottom of my glasses and that my fingers didn't want to work when I was retying flies, but beyond that it was as good as a day can get. There were pools where I couldn't do anything wrong. I'd make a cast too long and figure that I'd spooked fish and a second later my line was taught with ten inches of wild brook trout, unwilling to succumb to the strain I was willing to put on 6x tippet. The best part of the day was that I didn't see another soul ON the river. I did run into a couple guys who were AT the river. I was at my car taking down my rod and stowing my gear away when they drove over, rolled the window down and asked how the fishing was. Queue the sound clip of the screeching tires and breaking glass. I wanted to tell them that sitting on heated leather car seats sipping Starbucks coffee was not the way to find that out. Nor was asking a guy who endured a day of clearing guides of ice, frozen fingers and an extremely wind burned face. I wanted to tell them that sometimes fishing is uncomfortable at best and that those can be the best days. But, I thought, I shouldn't have to tell real fisherman that. So with a shrug of my shoulders and behind a mask of deceit I said, "tough". It wasn't. Not even a little.
