It was not the best start on the East Fork of the French Broad, being somewhat cold and more than somewhat windy. That sorry groundhog told us we’d get 6 more weeks of winter, but forgot to mention that a few nice days would also slip in to lull us into expecting things to stay that way. I’m old enough now not to fall for his treacherous obfuscations, but I still don’t like it, because I’m going trout fishing when the opportunity arises. And this one had been planned for months.

Got with Wes and 2 of his neighbors, Paul and Jordan, a father/son combo, getting introduced into flyfishing for trout for their first time. We met in Simpsonville, I got in with them, forgetting of course my camera and, as if that wasn’t bad enough, my favorite reel in the bargain. I did have a spare, but these kind of things have a way of making one wonder about one’s dedication in some ways. Then again, it’s not the first time forgetfulness has slipped in and done this to me.

And it did turn out to be one of those days where somebody catches fish and the rest get skunked. I got a conciliatory episode with a nice spunky brookie after missing the connection several times, which gave me the opportunity of baptizing my new net given to me by Wes for Christmas (thanks again, Wes!). It’s beautifully made of teak, opening like a pair of scissors, and even has my name imprinted on it. Awesome, and I love it. The brookie was a nice 10-incher and was sent back to go forth and multiply, hopefully. There would be a picture… but you know the rest.

Other successes were primarily enjoyed by Simons, who saw more action than the rest of us. She’s been doin’ a lot of that lately, and I wish I could get out as often as she does, but then I would have to live much closer to fishable trout water than I do.

Well, we have a mentoring outing coming up on us next month, on the 22nd. I will not forget my stuff, I will not forget my stuff, I will not, uh,  what… ?