Winter loathing under the cut bank

I detest winter. Sure, the frigid water temperatures slow my metabolism to a crawl and I am fairly well able maintain my bulk without having to chase food. But after a couple of months the shacknasties set in. I long for a little game of cat and mouse (I’m not picky and will eat either, though I prefer the cat due to their larger size). Both are scarce this time of year.

From time to time I’ll make the rounds just to see what’s happening in the neighborhood. Not much this time of year. If I’m really bored I’ll harvest spent end-tackle (my lair is lavishly decorated with Thingamabobbers in every size and color). Assorted stonefly nymphs can be seen crawling about—skwalas are on the brink of hatching, and while that excites fly fishermen, I’m not a bug eater. I need meat: warm-blooded, furred or feathered meat. Unfortunately ducks have flown south for the winter, and people seldom bring their ornamental terriers to the river for a playful swim in the middle of winter. The occasional muskrat or nutria will make the mistake of nosing under my cut bank from time to time, or I’ll break through the ice to ruin a playful otter’s day. So, I get by. But food isn’t my foremost concern.

There’s something else missing.

For most of the winter months I’m content to catch up on my reading. I got through Gierach’s latest book, No Shortage of Good Days. That Bob White guy who drew the cover is pretty good, but to be honest I feel like I’ve read it all before–will the man never retire? I just finished River of Doubt: Theodore Roosevelt’s Darkest Journey. He may have been President but he was a fool, though I will give him credit–he had bigger cajones than any man alive today. I also recently finished An Entirely Synthetic Fish. It explains a lot. Rainbow trout, MEH. Frankly, I’ve grown weary of reading.

I’ll admit, I’m starting to feel the twangs of melancholy setting in. I look forward to the warmer days of Spring, but damn that Punxsutawney Phil for declaring 6 more weeks of winter. Who died and made him meteorologist, anyway? Bring that ground squirrel to see me and he’ll not see his shadow again.

A lot of you fly fishermen have been making the rounds to fly fishing shows and outdoor expos recently. You’ve spent ridiculous amounts of money on new rods, reels and lines. After you get back from your nancy-boy trips to the Bahamas the weather will have warmed a good bit. Don’t let a little residual snow on the river bank deter you. Those chicken streamers you’ve been tying over the winter?  Fill a fly box with them–all of them– and come see me.

I’m tired of winter.

I want some amusement.