I spent many nights of my youth summers in the front of an aluminum canoe spinning the shores and vegetation of Perkins Lake while my father paddled in the rear with a trolling rig floating behind him and a cigarette between his lips soon to be replaced by the next. On more than one occasion, the canoe would shake and I’d look back to see my dad trying to catch his rolling glass Snapple bottle full of dead butts in order to put his recently smoked one into it. Each time I would look his way and away from my line to see him flailing, that was when I would get a strike on the line. It is an odd phenomenon known to many fisherman that I personally know: you could watch your fly, like one of the many bald eagles that are doing a heck of a lot better than you are, for hours without seeing any action but the moment you look away (maybe at that eagle diving down), a lunker has swam up and taken it.

After the rush for the Snapple bottle, my father had been quiet for some time. The fishing had been quiet as well. All we had caught the whole evening were little pumpkinseeds, and I had been complaining about it like a ten year old would (and I guess I do still have a bit of that in me to this day). Then, the silence was broken by the honking of geese and the crack of a lighter. I heard him exhale loudly and clear his throat before he told me: “Son, the big ones tend to bite at two times a day: right before you get on the water and right after you take the canoe out”. And there is always a bit of truth to that. It was his way of lightening the mood and turning my frown into a smirk. But as I turned around to acknowledge what a good joke that was, I realized that it wasn’t just a joke. It was a sort of mantra.

I watched him as he smoked his prized Marlboro light and looked off into the Purcell’s that gave us a beautiful backdrop in the sunset along with the dense trees that house all sorts of things from elk to moose, deer to cougars, finches and ferns and thoughts, ideas and peace. Fishing for me flipped around that day. It wasn’t about catching anymore. It was about freedom, escape, entangling ourselves back into nature and untangling ourselves from the state of the world that continues to go down the gutter. Out in nature, we don’t have to think about those things. It is just us, the river, the trees, the fish. We had these newfangled spinning reels, industrially made soda pop cans roughly cut in half with a Swiss army knife to hold our worms, technological marvels such as the Rooster Tail and fine graphite rods. But what we do with them is primitive; a part of the instinctual human behavior of hunting and gathering.

And I know, I get it. There are a large handful of people out there who don’t think about fishing the way I do. They are out there to string up as many stockers as they can (to my neighbors and many other folks out there in the county, the limit is 6) while they talk loudly in the small valley that Solomon Lake is nestled in. But for the people that take a bit of a deeper look and have a great admiration for the great nature that we have surrounding us, take a step back from the water and soak it all in today.

Though it can be looked upon as pretentious, I find a large number of fly fishermen are quite good at this. I personally like to sit near the banks of the river for a good amount of time before rigging up my fly rod to have the fresh air take over me as I watch for the trout to rise. I even know a handful of fly fishers who will occasionally tie on a fly that has the hook shank snipped off. They fish for the rise; the fooling of the fish. They are out to appreciate what they have and they don’t need to bring in a fish to have a great day of fishing. They are doing the hard part (fooling the fish) and they are leaving the fish with a much lower mortality rate for the day. It is a win-win scenario that you won’t see me doing often (if at all) but I can understand why they do it and I respect the heck out of them for doing it.

So, I guess all I am saying this week is that the lakes and rivers are looking pretty fishy, the weather is warming up, and nature itself is rolling out of its deep, dark winter-y sleep. As you are rushing out the door and scooting on over to your favorite waters, take a bit of time before your first cast to take it all in and appreciate it. I promise that you will find a deep comfort in recognizing how lucky we are to live among such alluring surroundings.

With that said, recent hatches include baetis and caddis on the smaller size. The blue winged olives I have seen, and there have been a few, have been emerging in the shallow waters along the banks of the Kootenai. While there may not be too much action in those areas until it starts warming up some more, it is still worth the chance at some nice topwater action. I have seen a few trout coming up into the shallower waters on more than one occasion. While it may not be as productive as it will be in mid-May and on, it is still worth it to get out there. As the late Jim Green said, “There’s no such thing as a fly fisherman wholly satisfied with his casting performance”. This is very true, and as many of us are shaking the winter cobwebs off our casting arm, it is a great time to lay some line on the water and practice.

Tight lines out there, friends.