It’s a typical summer here in the Valley, hot and dry. I wasn’t hopeful about the fishing but needed to get out if for no other reason than to take my fly rod for a walk. In situations like that I usually go one of two ways. Either go explore new water or go for the familiar.
The weekend before a friend and I made a trek to look at some water I never fished. It was a nice walk. Let’s leave at that.
The weather had moderated in the intervening week even if my desire to fish hadn’t. I had had my fill of exploration last weekend, so the siren song of the familiar was playing gently in my ears.
I remember reading John Gierach’s story, “I’d Fish Anyone’s Saint Vrain” 20 plus years ago and thinking “I wonder where my St Vrain is?” I got thinking about that story last Sunday when I made an early morning run to my St. Vrain.
Gierach describes someone’s St Vrain like this, “It’s not big, it’s not great, it’s not famous, certainly it’s not fashionable, and therein lies its charm. It’s an ordinary, run-of-the mill, trout stream, where fly-fishing can be a casual affair rather than a balls-to-the wall adventure all the time. It’s the place where, for once, you are notthe tourist.”
The nice thing about fishing your own “St. Vrain” is it’s indeed a causal affair. So, notwithstanding the additional considerations that need to be factored in for summer fishing, like water levels, and air and water temps, if you know the water, you have a good idea what may lay in store. I knew it was an easy walk to the water and I’d know very quickly if it was worth tying on a fly or heading to town for breakfast at the diner.
Turns out water levels and temps were better than I expected. The sun had just started to reach the water I wanted to fish. I saw a few risers where I had seen fish rise before. Worth a shot, at least until things warmed up. So I fished. Casually.
Done the same more than a few times. Bliss, with or without catching anything.