I think Jonny is feeling the same even though I know he found stocked trout last week. Fortunately he is brilliant enough to actually take some initiative and plant a seed.
|Yes, he got the dates wrong, but I knew what he meant.|
Stress has an insidious way of denying you all pleasures including a sound night's sleep and so I found myself awake late on Monday or early on Tuesday depending on what side of midnight you found me. Pacing about sipping scotch I could not solve any of the myriad problems that denied me sleep, save one. With a simple email I could at least put to bed the wrangling over chasing Steel.
I am not a Steelheader. I know you just read that and thought "Poor chap, he's in denial".
No, really, I'm not a Steelheader.
Do I like the tug of large fish on the line, you bet. But I'm not constantly and obsessively thinking about nickel-bright slabs of rainbow trout shimmering as they cruise the flows upstream from Ontario.
Honestly, I'm not.
Maybe just a little.
But only interlaced with the thoughts of wild browns finning under the ice of a local stream. There's an obsession for ya.
I'm not a Steelheader but I do enjoy the trip. Pulaski, New York is about as strange a place as you can travel to without getting on a plane. It's always a cultural adventure and they do have Steelhead. And while I'm not there for the Steelhead per se, I do very much enjoy the Steelhead gear. How often to you get to tie swivels on leaders or buy split shot by the gross? As a trout fisherman, never.
So, I'm going to Pulaski. I'll drink some coffee (we'll bring our own). I'll sip scotch. Smoke a few cigars. Jon and I will share inside jokes (such as they are). We'll drift heavy nymphs in deep pools and wait for a tug, a tug that dispels stress, baptizes us against the evil swirl of the workaday world and gives a squirt of adrenaline like only hurtling Steel can do.
One last go before the end.