Today 31 May 2013 is the close of another season – a good one. A time to reflect on the moments, the experiences, the memories and time spent with like-minded companions who like me, have fly fishing running deep in their souls. I have been fishing my home waters for what seems like forever, hunting and catching the descendants of their ancestors who were first set free in these streams over 120 years ago. By my standards, I have clocked more than half a lifetime and some serious miles here. But as far as the stream and its environment are concerned, it is no more than a blink in time.
A thought too for the trout, rainbows and browns, the leading role players that have been inextricably part of the past season, the challenges they have presented the enjoyment they have brought and the memories they have created now indelibly etched in my mind forever. Out of the water they will suffocate – underwater in the cold, liquid atmosphere of the stream, wild, speckled shapes move the way of the flow – skin ripples and gives against the current, bound only by the limits of skeleton the literal stretch of the skin is close to being made of river. Gills move with the slightest motion, mouths open and close almost imperceptibly, fins hold them in perfect balance between water and sky. And then, at the slightest hint of anything unfamiliar, in a heartbeat, disappear – there, but momentarily gone, a kaleidoscope of gold and rainbow colours, liquid patterns that seem to melt in and out of reality like illusion in the stream.
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