By Mike Rayder
I stand motionless on the bank, my waders pulled up tight,
Fly rod in one hand, it’s just after light.
My other hand on my forehead, blocking the sun’s reflection,
I’ve done this before, in my mind’s recollection.
Scanning the water, moving only my eyes, ever so slowly,
There! A rise! I ease into the river, careful, no ripples,
Nothing must break the clear waters surface.
Deliberately I edge forward, toward the feeding trout,
Near the far bank, they’re stirring about,
I sneak within casting range, stripping line from my reel,
Enough for the distance, slowly I peel.
I cast upstream, and as the fly floats high to approach them,
I pray my choice was correct, a number twelve coachman.
A splash! One’s on! He’s tugging and running,
I see him flash by me, his colors are stunning.
As trout go he’s bigger and longer and rounder,
I’m beginning to shake, I’ve hooked a six pounder.
Then with a mighty yank, he snaps my light leader,
My fly line goes slack, I’ve lost that big breeder.
I can’t believe it! I’m stunned! For a moment frozen still wishing,
But turning to leave, I whisper aloud,
“Oh well, all in a days fishing.”
Mike was born and raised in Connecticut. He’s always been an avid fly fisherman and a member of Trout Unlimited. He retired in 2015 and moved to Whittier NC to be in the center of great trout fishing. The Tuckasegee River is now his home waters.