Signs of spring on the homefront

It felt like Spring this morning. Not the temperature. No, it was freezing. But that smell. And the angle of the sun. And the way the clouds just barely hung over the pond, not a breath of wind to disrupt them.

There were some robins in my front yard, contently plucking away at grubs in my grass. The mocking, two-note call of the black-capped chickadee rung out into the morning air. Then, another one from across the woods. The peepers aren’t peeping yet but they will be soon enough.

My new waders came in the mail. I ripped open the package, tried them on, and walked around the house, and in that exact moment, my fiance walked through the door and just stared at me.

My fly rod–which actually hasn’t left my car all winter–got to breath some fresh, pre-spring air. I took it out of the trunk, strung it up, and made a few casts onto the lawn.

There was a news report about some Harvard students catching a 25 pound bass in the Charles. The Harvard kids get to have all the fun. Shouldn’t they have been in class? I bet this weekend, the banks of the Charles will look like the East End on a Saturday during breaking tides.

I’m trying for holdovers tomorrow. Winds will be low and the temperature will be up, and I haven’t exactly told my fiance my plan yet. But I’m going to layer up, put on the new waders, and cast a few clousers to stripers that hopefully decided to make their seasonal home their semi-permanent home. I don’t expect to catch a 25 pound fish. I’ll leave that for them Harvard boys over in the Charles.

It’ll be nice, though, to step out into the water, close my eyes, and pretend it’s actually springtime for a few hours.

Yeah, Spring is coming.

Billy Mitchell

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