As the mist rises in the early morning here in the North, the rivers steaming from the cold, I find a cozy mossy rock to watch as my clients from Spain enter the water.
My fingertips are numb and anticipation is at an all time high. My guys are in their late 60s, cautiously navigating the slippery rocks down the pool, waiting for a steelhead or northern coho to bite their fly.
The Dipper bird dances in front of me feeding on the small flying bugs.
He moves quickly along the shore satisfying his hunger.
My guys talk in Spanish, not sure about what, when Juan’s line goes tight and the elusive fish jumps out of the water.
“Fish!” he cries.
The universal language is engaged and I deploy my net for the catch and release, with a photo a must.
I often wonder after 30-60-90-100-150-180 days of fishing, why am I still out here – this is wearing me down.
I only have to think of the past days when a Danish angler caught a prize fish and said to me this is why he comes here, as the fish pulled his line across the river.
He alluded to not only the fishing, but the serenity of the area, the peace we at times take for granted, something only a foreigner would etch into his or her mind for life.
This is why we live here and this is why my passion stays at a high level.
I must carry on, as this is my life, guiding anglers into special places virtually untouched.
Many anglers will stop and take pictures instead of casting – they know we have it all as Canadians.
They respect us and envy us, and they will return again next year.