Mid-winter break came and went. It didn’t feel like much of a break because we previously had several days off for very cold temperatures. Never one to deny a day-off though, I decided to fish in the afternoon. With the sporadic sun warming local waters, hopefully the water would climb on the thermometer a degree or two. I wouldn’t want to miss a chance. I am thankful that open water exists. My interest in ice fishing faded as quickly as anticipated. It is no coincidence that making sure you have a proper drift is essential to fly fishing. Drift is the natural flow of things downriver. More specifically helpless aquatic macroinvertebrates floating downriver toward hungry trout. Trout aren’t mystical but they can seem that way sometimes if you aren’t getting the proper drift. This point could be argued, but I believe presentation supersedes the exact fly to use. On my mid-winter break day, I had spent unreasonable thought on what flies to use. I did spend more internal dialogue on drifting. Drifting, in this case, the more generally accepted definition of not staying in one place for long. I had decided to “hole hop” on some open water, not staying in one place because I had trouble deciding where I wanted to spend my time. I opted to start my day on open water in search of panfish. I have missed them. Unceremoniously plopping my flies in the water (I was using a two fly nymph rig) I took a second to see what the river flows were doing to my flies of choice. I misjudged the weight I would need so immediately knew I would need to manually alter my beaded nymphs to have the right drift. I stripped out enough line for a cast, and my flies entered the murky waters. As I felt out how the drift was going, I could feel my flies bumping off the bottom, briefly pausing as they collided with unseen obstructions. Then, a slightly different disturbance. In a reflex moment I strip-set the line and raised the tip high to set the hook. Shockingly, a pull in return. Sluggish at first, then dogged. “Bass, and it’s cold, so this makes sense”. Then “Maybe a small carp?”. Then as wonder faded to surprise, a beautiful brown trout with a large scarlet adipose fin came into view. I almost didn’t grab my net on the way from the truck. I almost didn’t fish this spot seriously. I almost didn’t set the hook. I almost missed it. This time I did those things right. It was an easy spot, an easy fish, and it seemed as though the day would open up wide with fish everywhere ready to devour my offerings. It was the first cast, first fish, and the last fish. Not much went right the rest of the afternoon when it came to catching fish, but I thought it was a big day for other reasons only I might care to understand. I almost missed the deadline on my article this month. I am sure you could have lived without it. I can’t say winter months are the most exciting content I have written. I do enjoy writing these articles though because it allows me to look on a microscope level at my angling life. Fewer trips but more time to examine them. I do look forward to what the April session will bring in terms of change of pace, amount of castable fly water, and how much time seems to fly by in the flow of life…if you get my drift.