It has been a winter of bitterness and despair on the western slope of the central Rockies. Day after day of cold and clouds and no snow and locals who have a low tolerance when God throws a couple months of this kind of weather—good conditions for heavy drinking and little else. Most of this winter we had to resort to as many Nuclear Eggs and San Juan Worms as you can legally tie on in Colorado and plunk it straight down into a deep pit. The fish bundle up in the cold, hunkering deep in tight formation. When you find a group you drop your rig into the pod and eventually one of them will get tangled up in your trot line and you can quickly say you got one to eat a top secret midge pattern. In my opinion this type of fishing is as interesting as going to The Sportsmen’s Expo. But that’s changed recently as our days are growing warm and sunny, or even better, warm and grey. It happens to me every year for as long as I can remember. Standing in the tail out of a river looking out across the mirror you see a dark form ease up. Was that a fish? Another push of water, then another. The fish are taking dries. In my dreams I see their rise forms and as it has been ever since I was a boy, and I fall in love trout fishing and become consumed. The little dark winter stones are on the move and any day now the blue wings will show. Hell, I might even fish one fly so I can take the hook out of their mouths instead of their asses.

Live from the World Headquarters
Kea C. Hause esq.