Can't Stop

It's dark and cold. The spring peepers went quiet hours ago when the temperature crept down below freezing. Nobody is out, the water slides by at a slow and steady pace. The tide is as sluggish as everything else seems to be. There isn't any sign of bait. There's no sign of bass either. It's so cold, why would there be? I fish anyway, letting the hours slide by, allowing the pursuit to pull me forward and keep me on target. If I think about that target I don't need to think about anything else. 

A muskrat comes up the bank from below. I think I know where he's headed, but I'm surprised to see him at this time of night. Normally he makes his rounds earlier. Maybe he's just wondering why I'm there when I am too. I'm often late to the party, showing up after the bass have been around a while and lingering till after everyone else has given up. This year I felt the need to hit the target sooner. But tonight there's nothing, it seems. No bait. No bass. But I must not stop. At 3:30am I can hear the frost that's forming on my line scraping off onto my guides. Hmm. Very cold indeed. 

I make a minor spot adjustment, just to cast through the same water at a slightly different angle. Sometimes that makes a difference. Usually it doesn't. I think about these things that some anglers don't. Not merely does adjusting where you stand allow you to present your fly to different fish, but it might let you present it better to the same fish you've already showed it to. Maybe there was a bass in front of me and I just had to show it the same fly in a different way. Maybe it  If I keep thinking about these things I don't have to think about... well, I don't want to think about that. I force myself to think about the variables and the task at hand again. The line I'm using wasn't great. The head is much too long for the job. It's much too long for anything I would do with it, frankly. Feeling the taper as I strip it through my fingers, I ponder solutions. I could cut it down I bet, make it into something really useful. It would end up being a triangle taper, basically. As it was there was really nothing I could think to use it for. My mind drifts to things Ian Devlin has taught me about tapers, grain weights, and casting. 

My new angle suddenly seems to have been a good idea when I feel that ever distinct thump. Ramming the hook home, I could tell it was a fairly decent bass. Not huge, but big enough to make for a very solid first of the season. 

By that point I'm more than exhausted enough to fall asleep. I let the fish swim off and walk back to the car. That was that. But only for that night. Sleep keeps the thoughts away for the most part, especially when I'm so dog tired I don't have any dreams I can remember. The next day I'll work until I have no more will to work, then I'll go fishing again. And I'll fish harder and with more intent than I ever have before.

 I can't stop, and I barely have since. If I fish hard enough I'll break my goals. If I fish hard enough, I won't think about those things I don't want to. I can't stop now or it will hurt too much. I'm fishing the pain away. That's all I know how to do. 

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