Cooler temperatures are just one reason to be thankful
November is a month I’m thankful to see roll around every year. The cooler temperatures and frosty mornings are a reprieve from the intense heat domes we’ve suffered through these past summers. July and August triple-digit readings have forced me to sweat profusely instead of lightly perspiring. It’s wonderful to stand in cold water, chilled, and try to catch a trout on a fly. Exhaling slowly, I watch my damp breath turn into ice crystals and disappear. What a beautiful morning to be here. Quiet, alone, and time to ponder the things I’ve been too busy to think about otherwise.
Wading a cold mountain stream in November is almost a sacred event. Few remaining leaves hang in the bare trees, giving the woods a somber appearance. This lets me clearly see the mountains towering above me. The river may be the same, but my scenery is different and unique now. The various granite formations are now visible, jutting outward and displaying mysterious dark crevices. This would be a great time to hike and explore, but I have fish to catch. I stop and wonder what creatures call these mysterious indentations home. Does Sasquatch really find these places comfortable?
The fish
This mountain stream’s water is completely transparent, and the trout are immensely spooky. I have scared many more fish than hooked. This was a humble time to be thankful for the one small rainbow caught and glad it wasn’t a big fish testing my abilities. There’s a good chance it would have broken off my little fly after a few long runs and jumps. That would have made me extremely upset and frustrated, which could have ruined my whole morning and pensive mood. I felt sorry for that one little rainbow as I watched him slowly swim back into the current from my gentle grip.
After releasing the fish and carefully wading up the right-hand side, I looked down and noticed an unopened beer can. I figured it was the perfect temperature, buried in 45-degree water, like being in the refrigerator for several months. Maybe the current had washed it downstream from a summertime picnic and it got wedged against two rocks. That made the most sense because I am too old to believe in the beer fairy anymore.
Netting the beer and removing temptation from other anglers following in my footsteps, I held the cold can in my hands and thought about it. Then reality set in: I opened it, poured it out, crushed the can on a rock, and put the flat aluminum remnants in my vest. I’m thankful I packed a few beers of my own and wasn’t tempted to drink that one.
Time to reflect
Wading rivers and fishing hard can stir up an appetite even though it was only 9 a.m. I was hungry, and the thought of a peanut butter and jelly sandwich overcame me. A large boulder in the middle of the stream had the perfect indentation to rest my back against, so I headed towards it. It’s actually a superb picnic spot. Surrounded by the music of fast-flowing water on both sides, it adds a special touch to lunch. Many hours have been spent over the last several decades sitting on this same rock, having lunch or waiting on fish to start rising.
Climbing on the rock and lying back against the upper ridge, looking around at these barren but beautiful woods surrounding me, I felt it was a privilege to be here. I began thinking of the many things I am thankful for, including my family and friends. Those thoughts carried me naturally into the next memories.
I am very thankful I had left my .30-06 bullets in the cabin when deer hunting with my son-in-law last month. On the way to the deer stand, he told me of the buck he had been hunting relentlessly for a month. He said it was a particular 10-point buck that had been consistently reappearing on his camera shots and driving him crazy. This morning that buck finally stuck his head out from the thicket in front of me. Pictures did not compare to seeing his enormous rack in person. If I had not forgotten my bullets and shot that deer with the massive antler spread, it may have scarred Drew for life.
I am thankful I didn’t drown while fly fishing in a snake-infested farm pond. Finally having the opportunity to fish this one special pond rumored to have large bass, I could hardly sleep the night before, dreaming of the fly rod bent in half. Arriving early, I flipped the little 12-foot Jon boat over on the bank, and two water snakes slithered quickly from beneath toward the pond’s edge. Chesney had instructed me to remain seated in the little boat as it easily became tipsy, and it didn’t take long to realize he was indeed correct.
Unwelcome visitor
The farthest points always seem the most enticing, so I paddled towards the back edge near the spillway. When paddling from left to right, the paddle occasionally banged against the aluminum boat. About halfway to my fishing destination, the incessant noise must have woken the first two snakes’ big brother, and he had an attitude. Crawling from underneath the lip of the front seat, he curled up on the bench and just looked at me. And I stared back at him too.
This tiny metal yacht wasn’t big enough for the both of us, I thought. Trying not to panic kept me thinking clearly. Fifty percent of me wanted to grab the paddle and quickly scoop him into the pond, but what if I missed? The other fifty percent was praying for a miracle.
Like most mornings, once the sun rose above the trees, a slight wind usually picked up, and this morning was no different. My miracle? Afraid to paddle, I just sat there and stared the snake down and started humming. I couldn’t remember the words to any songs, so I hummed noises. I surmised that if music worked with cobras, it would also work on this snake. Sitting motionless and humming low seemed to calm this serpent. Since snakes have no ears and rely on vibrations, it really didn’t matter if I could carry a tune or not. I tried humming louder in a deeper voice. It raised its head slightly, causing me to lower my tones.
Miracles do exist
The breeze was blowing us back towards the landing, but not fast enough. I kept praying for gale-force winds for three minutes, with no luck. The snake remained calm and appeared to enjoy the serenade, the sun and free ride. I kept thinking about catching big fish and what notes to hum next.
Nearing the shore, gut instinct told me it was time to slowly and quietly grab the paddle. The movement must have alerted the snake, causing it to raise its head, and I suddenly began humming as loud as I could. A third of the snake rose and was towering above me, within easy striking distance. It almost felt like a Disney movie.
Deciding to make a move as the snake continued rearing up, I stood up and promptly grabbed the paddle and was going to swing when the tipsy boat began to capsize. The last thing I saw was the snake bailing over the port side as I flipped back over the other one. By some miracle, we both made it to shore. Climbing up the bank soaked and humiliated, I noticed the snake sliding back into the heavy grass. It stopped, turned its head back towards me as if to thank me for the cruise. The boat and my fly rods were finally recovered, so all was well.
Rolling over to my side, I heard water near my ear and bolted up. Whew! That was close. It was indeed a great afternoon for a nap. It was time to start fishing again, and besides, it was a long hike to my truck. Sitting up and looking around, I smiled because there was so much to be thankful for. I might go fishing tomorrow and think about some other events I am thankful for, after I catch a few more fish. ■
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