I've been complaining (to myself, because complaining about a job where you fish for a living falls on deaf ears, unless they're attached to your own skull) that I'm not the one in Oregon or the Bahamas, living the life we all want. It's true that just last month I was at Flaming Gorge on an all-expenses paid trip, doing the exact things my friends who I'm jealous of are doing right now.
I'm always pining for adventure. My desire to travel and fish as much as possible can't ever be sated; otherwise, I would have quit writing about fishing and gotten on to doing something reasonable with my life. So when I watch close friend go gallivanting from fishing mecca to fishing mecca, I get jealous. I'm not proud of it, and it makes me realize just how petty I can be at times.
So, in an effort to rid myself of these jealous feelings, I headed up American Fork Canyon after work on Wednesday for some dry fly fishing.
On the drive up, I realized I hadn't fish on a weeknight in nearly two weeks. I can't remember the last time I had such a dry spell, and as I tried to figure out what had kept me off the water for a fortnight, I honestly couldn't come up with a good reason. I'd had dinner with some friends, a couple meetings with people in regards to a book I'm writing, and grocery shopping to do. But surely that kind of stuff couldn't have taken up two weeks?
It apparently had, and as I rigged up my 7'6" 3wt Redington Classic Trout rod in the late afternoon sun, I felt like I was seeing an old friend for the first time in years.
The fishing was exactly what you can expect when up American Fork Canyon - small trout, eagerly hitting any dry fly, within reason, properly presented to them.
Nothing to write home about, surely, but still a decent tug on a light 3wt rod.
I wrapped up my fishing in a few hours, and driving back, it struck me - I'd had a great time on that small creek, throwing at tiny trout. It didn't matter that I wasn't on the Deschutes or some salt flats, flinging flies towards trophy fish. I was enjoying myself in the moment, and that's what matters. Hell, that's why we fish. If you're not fishing to have fun, then I honestly can't fathom a reason as to why you'd stand in a river and wave a stick for hours on end. There are other, more productive, ways to spend time. But productivity, or reason, is subjective, and doesn't matter in the end. What matters is that you're enjoying yourself along every step of the journey you're on.
