Let’s just pretend we didn’t get polar vortex’d this week, okay? What a difference a day makes. It’s as if someone simply turned out the lights. I look forward to many winter activities, but I must confess that when January weather starts in November, the dark season can be a long haul. This is when the fantasy begins. It’s not that there isn’t any winter angling, it’s that we are simply the meat in delusion sandwich. Eagerly anticipating the spring thaw, and longingly look back at the previous years success and failures is the norm. It’s with this in mind that I offer up a light smattering of greatest hits from the last few months. I often wonder why we examine fishing blogs anyway? Why does anyone give a shit about what I do or say? I suspect that the purpose is multifaceted. For some it’s trolling for intell, for others it provides a vicarious escape from the daily humdrum. Let’s just remind ourselves that the glass is half full. We had an extra two weeks to chase tail this fall, and the Minnesota State Park’s trout season is well under way (for those in need of a fix). I’ve mostly been knee deep in ice rinks and vise time, eagerly anticipating a run. I also lost a massive Muskie recently, just for good measure. She proceeded to tangle me into some shallow water cables, in an defiant act of karma convergence. But that’s a story for another day. Let’s not concentrate on the cold brutality of reality, how ’bout we long for the past?
I gave Abe center stage in a post earlier this year, so I figured I’d catalog a shot or two with the larger, less mature version of the beast. It’s worth noting that he is just as suspicious of kayakers as his old man. His angling skills at this stage of development leave a lot to be desired, but we can only dream of the day that earns his spot as a humble troutin’ companion.
Habitat improvement? You don’t generally see this bank stabilization strategy much in the midwest. I’m sure some turn their noses up at such tactics, but a 1943 Packard hidey hole makes for some serious business. I’d take the creativity of a stretch like this any day over the tiresome Stepford Wives style habitat improvement infecting trout streams everywhere. In vogue H.I. stream tactics make ebola look like the common cold. For what it’s worth this landowner couldn’t be a nicer guy. One man’s trash is another man’s treasure.
When’s the last time you saw a bunch of little fish featured on a fly shop’s bulletin board? What’s wrong with us anyway? All of the sudden size matters? I guess I consider this post an ode to the little guy. No respect, no respect I tell ya. It’s a wise strategy to ease into the methadone, I’ll administer the high octane stuff when our withdrawals are at a fevered pitch. Offering up a quilt of random late season photos is just the first dose of your placebo.