The air has warmed to springtime temperatures this week, causing the ice to break and flow down to the Juniata or melt. The land, saturated with the melt water, holds water in temporary ponds and high in the water table. Between the effluent from the ground water and the drainage from roads and fields, the water is high…
…but not too high.
I drove back some twisted side roads that I still had never traveled in the year and a half I’ve lived in McAlisterville. This part of the creek is in the “Class A Wild Trout Stream” designation by the state, but my own exploration has mostly found a thin ribbon of water, too shallow to hold fish larger than a finger. Also, it would have probably almost entirely frozen this winter. I really haven’t seen where the fish could go.
Today, though, I found a bridge, under which Lost Creek runs through a culvert. Here, the current has roiled over upon itself, cutting out a hole which was probably deep enough to hold fish over during the winter. The color was perfect, an olive-teal, yet I could still see the rocks along the edge of the deeper current.
My knee-jerk response, almost my instinct, was to run home, grab my waders and rod and start plying the waters with pheasant-tail or hare’s ear nymphs. There was even a time in my life that I wouldn’t have left my house without having a rod and my pack in the back hatch of my Jeep.
But today, I’m in a van. A cold front is moving back in for next week, and a winter wind is kicking up. I don’t have my rod with me; I don’t even have a fishing license yet—by February, my old fishing journals tell me, I usually have at least a half-dozen days on the water!
I have work to do, though. This prompt to write. Graduation papers to grade for my seniors. Poems to read for Mentorship 1. I guess at some point in my life, I have to set priorities. Do what is most important.
But the things that give us the most pleasure are a priority, right? The trick is to balance out the obligation with the pleasure. Not that I am one to talk...
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