Friday night I cleaned the bathroom and the kitchen, so when Saturday morning rolled around, I decided to lounge around in my sweats for as long as possible. Even though I woke up at 8:30am, I didn't get showered and dressed until nearly 11:00am. I spent the morning eating, drinking tea, reading my book, working on crossword puzzles, and catching up on some television. It was very nice.
At one o'clock, my friend Carolyn came and picked me up. Over the last month, it has come to my attention that everyone and their pet duck (or everyone and their grandmother, if you prefer that phrase) in Rochester goes fly fishing. If you know me at all, you can probably imagine that I am not much of a fisherman. In fact, I don't think I've been fishing since I was maybe five years old at Eagle River, and that wasn't fly fishing, but sitting-on-the-end-of-the-dock-with-another-fish-on-the-hook fishing. It always made me sad to see the bucket of little tiny fish swimming around. One of the adults would let a kid choose, then catch the little fish with their hands and ruthlessly, callously, and with malice, attach it to the sharp, torturous hook, the point of which gleamed in the sunlight. Of course, I was five and younger, so I may be blowing this a little out of proportion.
The point is, everyone here seems to go fly fishing. Granted, almost everyone I know here works at or is somehow connected to the school where I work, so it might not be a very accurate sampling of the city's population. Carolyn enjoys fly fishing, as does her boyfriend, Bruce. Everyone on the maintenance team I've spoken with enjoys fly fishing. The other Ivy on the DHH team goes fly fishing. And so, on Friday when Carolyn asked if I wanted to tag along with her, I jumped at the opportunity.
Carolyn picked me up at one o'clock, and after dropping her daughter and daughter's friend off at the Apache Mall, we got on 52 southbound and drove through Chatfield. Just south of Chatfield, we pulled off onto this dirt road and no sooner had I blinked than we were at Trout Run.
Despite the clouds and drizzling rain, the view was breathtaking. As Carolyn pulled on her waders and set up her fishing rod, I watched in awe as not one, but five! hawks circled above us. Dozens of little birds chirped, tweeted, and flew around us. The cows and their calves rambled around in the hilly fields, and the trout were literally jumping out of the water!
"Oh! There's a fish! There's another one! Carolyn! Look at all the fish!" I exclaimed pointing. Carolyn good-naturedly smiled and agreed that the fish were in fine form that day.
I watched Carolyn prepare for this fly fishing sport, and I'll admit it is a rather labor-intensive and tedious set-up. I got to help tie the lure because I could thread the line through the little eye-holes of the tiny fake insects.
Mostly I watched Carolyn fish and enjoyed the scenery. Some of Trout Run is right up against a wall of rocks, covered in moss and plants, with trees on top. Occasionally, one of the several hawks would stop circling and perch up there, surveying the land below. The sound of the rushing water and the feel of the soft earth beneath my boots while taking in the cool, damp air and sights of so many animals was amazing and incredibly relaxing.
At one point we climbed over a "style" and into a pasture with the some cows and their calves. The "style" was basically little stairs to climb over the barbed wire fence. Carolyn explained that whenever you see one of these, it is like granting permission to have access to the stream via the pasture. While Carolyn continued with her fishing, I wandered around along the stream, climbing over "styles" and exploring an interesting bridge.
Carolyn let me play with the fishing rod for a while, too, and attempted to teach me to cast. It is rather tricky, I think, but keep in mind that I have the fine and gross motor skills of a four year old, and you don't see many four year olds fly fishing. I did not catch anything, which Martin says in fishing lingo is "getting skunked". Carolyn, however, caught two brown trout, which she released because they were so small.
After a little while, damp and happy, we got back in the car and drove back towards the city of Rochester. Once home, the sun came out and the rain stopped. I thought about going for a walk, but all that fresh air had tuckered me out, and after my dinner of tacos, I accidentally took a little fifteen minute nap on the couch.
I finished my day with sorting some laundry and going over to a friend's house to eat sweet potato fries, chocolate cake, and watch "Flipped", which was actually a rather cute film.
It turns out, fly fishing might be something I want to try. And even if I don't try it, I'd like to go back down to Trout Run just to sit and take deep breaths of fresh air while enjoying the sights and sounds of nature.
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