Reeling and Healing Midwest Blog

Written by Past Participant – Justine Jahr (2009)

There are places I have been – discovered on road trips, revealed during journeys of other kinds and places revisited many times because their beckoning – that I consider sacred because of a particular feeling they evoke.  The kind of places where I am overwhelmed by the awareness of the peace of God which passes all understanding.  Such is the stuff of a trout stream.

There are many facets involved in the lure of a trout stream.  The preparation for the trip sparks the anticipation – the decisions of where and when, gathering of the gear, the musings over weather forecasts and, of course, the trip itself.  Trout streams are not normally located (unless you are very fortunate) in one’s back yard.  The drive, especially as the destination nears, is fueled by eager expectation.

I arrive and WOW, there it is.  It might be a fairly wide expanse of water, rippled and rushed by a relentless current, or a narrow, meandering stream that flows so slowly I must study the water carefully to determine which way it is going.  Whatever.  As I am a complete novice at all this, getting into my gear requires patience, balance and the ability to be amused when my net (attached to the back of my vest via magnets and bungee cords) insists on being everywhere except where it belongs.  Trying to act as though I’ve done this hundreds of times, checking several times to be absolutely certain my keys are secured in my vest before locking up, I carefully walk away from my van, rather clumsy in my size 10 boots.  Streamside, I scout for likely trout habitat – a log, a partially submerged windfall or a bend in the stream where the current is not as strong, a deep pool downstream from a rapids or a small waterfall, a cozy cover created by an overhanging rock or cliff – so many possibilities!

As I step carefully into the stream, scanning for slippery spots, amking certain one boot is firmly planted before lifting the other (a tumble would not only be uncool, it would spook the fish and that would be that), the sense of freedom, the appreciation of the privilege to leave shore and be one with the water begins.  As the water deepens I feel its coolness through my waders.  Oh yeah, this is GREAT.  Decision time.  Wet or dry fly?  Are he trout rising?  hiding?  Hungry?  Sometimes I can see them, positioned facing upstream, waiting.  What will it take to interest them, to have them at least look at my offering?  The fluid repetition of the cast.  the muttering when the fly does not end up where intended and gets caught and tangled elsewhere.  It’s all part of the fly fishing experience.

Having a trout take my fly, get hooked, struggle as I carefully and slowly reel it in, the netting (a procedure that, at this point in my fly fishing career, remains a total mystery to me), the landing and, finally, the removal of the hook and gentle release back into the stream – a period when time stands still and leaves me momentarily suspended in a state of awe sufficient to fuel memories for a long, long time.  Cool as this may be, I can be perfectly content just wading in the water in a serene and peaceful place, anticipating what lies around the next end.  That, for me, is the essence of the lure of a trout stream.