The following is from the FlyAddicts Blog, 9 Months of Winter.

Its over, I’ve just gotta admit it. Fishing has had less meaning for some reason lately.  My girlfriend of four years dumped me recently, not in a good way either; we’ll just leave it at that.  She is a coward and screwed me over because of it.  At least I know that Summer will return again, she probably never will, I saw her with some guy today, fatter than me; which is hard to do.  He probably fishes with bait, whatever, if she wants to date a fat bait fisherman, fine, its what she deserves.

In the mean time the silvers are red, the dollies have all but disappeared, and my car broke down.   Because I was an idiot and lent my ex money, I don’t have that money to fix my own car (not that I would anyway, extra money around here ends up in guns and fly rods immediately).  She’ll pay me back someday, but between now and then I’m stuck- no bike even.  What the hell was I thinking not bringing my bike down?

Anyway, I wish I had some time and money, there are steelhead somewhere and I want to find them, steelhead are something she and I never shared.  I can’t fish for salmon anymore.  I’m sure not gonna release them to die before they spawn and I don’t eat that junk.  When you’ve caught as many salmon as me, you think of them as currency and dog food.  I’m not bragging about how many salmon I’ve caught, its just my job to catch salmon.

Steelhead are an ideal; something I can want; something I can dream about.  And I have no memories of her and steelhead, nothing there to prevent me from enjoying my fantasies.  If this new girl pans out, which probably won’t happen, I will probably take her steelheading- that’ll probably turn out to be a mistake. Who knows?  Steelhead won’t be anywhere near here till May and I’ll probably be gone from here by then.  And hell, if she decides to take a risk on me, and I teach her to fish, and she gets as addicted as I am, well that would be the dream right there, right?

Actually I have a hunch on some insane steelheading, about a two hour boat ride from here, that’s probably going off right now.  Dropping temps probably cleared the water. Nobody knows if they are there or not, or its a closely guarded secret.  If anyone asks me where I’m talking about, they should have their fingers cut off cause I am sure as hell not telling- unless they have a jet boat or helicopter and a few days.

Every once in a while I’ll be driving down the road and the weather will be normal (horrible) and I’ll think to myself, “Why the hell do I live here?  I could live anywhere.”  The answer of course is school, I gotta finish my degree and stuff, get on track for a career or something.  Honestly, I want all of that; the house, the family, the financial independence to be able to book a guide so I don’t get skunked every time I try to fish anywhere out of state, or to buy a boat so I can get to this steelhead nirvana I imagine.

Why am I so caught up on steelhead?  There are plenty of other fish out there.  Probably the same reason I’m caught up on one girl.  Maybe I should calm down a bit, not go for the pinnacle of the sport while I’m so young.  Heck, maybe I shouldn’t be looking for a girl who’s worthy of a steelhead trip while I’m so young.  A single girl thatd knows how to spey cast could be around the next bend.  I just need to be somewhere where there are some freaking rivers that warrant a two hander.  Girls are tricky.  They have brains and minds of their own- the good ones do anyway.   They don’t just go for the first shiny thing that comes their way and get hooked.  If they did life would be a bit easier.  I can be pretty shiny sometimes.

A good girl is like that perfect trout, the one I imagined my whole life.  Sometimes I feel like everybody else gets to catch that fish all the time, you know the one. You see it rise out of the corner of your eye.  You inspect the water and notice some blue winged olives are just starting to come off so you switch to a size 16 dun and make a cast.  The fish takes it, you play it out and hold it in your hand.  Its about 18 inches- perfect.  Not so big its ugly but not so small its hard to hold, like a perfect pair of breasts.  You smile and note that it doesn’t have scars in its mouth, it looks untouched by another man.  But this river is a busy one, and you are sure it has.  A fish this big doesn’t live that long without taking a fly, but today it took yours and that makes you happy and you can forget all the others who have touched this piece of nature.

I came close to the perfect fish, and I came close to the perfect woman.  The perfect fish is easier to describe, so I’ll start there.   I was motoring up my river showing the new folks around when I came ripping around this log jam and ran into a gravel bar that wasn’t there the season before, “oops, way to impress the new guys.” Anyways, I was pulling some gravel out of the grate on the jet pump when I noticed a fish rise.  Since it was still mid June I figured the rise was either a grayling or a rainbow eating smolt.  I threw a bomber first and swung it in there, the water was fast, really fast, not great trout water- for the life of me I have no idea why that hole was productive last season, its not even a hole really. Anyway, nothing looked at the bomber, so I switched to a smolt and stripped it like an exotic dancer with tuition and a mortgage to pay, still nothing.  “These must be grayling,” I thought as I pondered my next move. I kept looking at the water for the answer and then there it was, a mayfly, teeny- between 16 and 18, dark.  “Lets see, dry box, the smallest mayfly I have with me is a size 10 green wulf, great…”  I threw, did a little drop downstream, throw a weird mend and let it drift below me, drift, swing a bit, recast, drift, fish, set, nothing, fish rising across a seam, throw, nothing, throw, nothing, crazy mend, can’t get a good drift, I suck at fishing, throw below me again, take, set, on, strip, reel, reel, back up, net, yes! 18″ of dead drift eating rainbow, picture, put him back. I’m buzzing.   The fish across the seam rose again.  Throw, mend, throw, mend, throw, mend, take, set, on! Downstream, nothing I can do but muscle him out of the trees, 3x seems to small, side pressure, back up, out of the trees, I’m on gravel, back up, reel reel reel, run, net, head up, scoop, yes. 25″ picture, put him back.

I can hardly breathe the only thing I can compare it too was my first kiss, which honestly was better.  I was buzzed for a week. I was high as a 14 year old with his wisdom teeth fresh out and a nice stash of pills to edge the pain. No drugs involved for me though, just a $500 plane ticket, a bush plane flight, back breaking work getting camp together, and a poor boat driving decision. That fish was almost perfect, it was too eager- too easy- it took a fly that was a few sizes off and the wrong color.  I didn’t care at the time though.  Just like my ex, she was easy, it took nothing to coax her to rise and while I was with her I didn’t care that she wasn’t perfect; I was just happy for that moment.  I had no reason to make things more perfect. I’ll find my perfect fish, and when I do I’ll feel good for a little bit, when I find that perfect girl though I’ll feel good forever. Good thing girls don’t disappear for the winter, I should start tying some flies for them, I just have no clue what they take, and I doubt its reverse spiders.