Being rational human beings, we were capable of seeing the situation for what it was - no rain, huge amounts of snow, super-low flows, night temps still dipping below 28° - not exactly nature's thumbs-up for a productive trip.
However, we all contracted a bad case of gedouddatownitis on the same day. Phone calls were made, targets were discussed in hushed tones, modes of conveyance were selected, and a game plan was put together.
The First Trip is best conducted as a prelude, a warm-up, before any real excursions are undertaken...a dry-firing, if you will. This way, items that were left in haste or not remembered the night before are laughed off, and the consequence of absence is not as acutely felt. Some things, however, are best remembered whatever the tone of the trip.
When you forget your wading boots, it is always best to steal a friend's Xtratufs and make new ones...
We didn't really expect to see much, other than what we already knew but blocked from out eternal optimist's minds- the snow was high, the water was low, clear, and cold, and for the most part, there was a distinct absence of piscine life to be found. We did spot a few chilly fish doing their best impersonations of ostriches with their heads buried in rootwads instead of sand, a sure sign that the home team wasn't ready to play quite yet.
The birds were out in full force, with a cloud of whitefronted geese honking like 3pm on the LA freeway for most of our trip. They were interrupted only once, by a stately procession of trumpeter swans that swung in for a look-see and then continued on up the coast. We managed one crappy picture on their easternmost swing, but even fuzzy, it is still pretty cool.
After much poking and probing, a little gazing, and some minor contemplation, we accepted the fact that it wasn't going to happen today. No worries, though - good friends, a few beers, low expectations, a walk in the cold spring sun...
Shakedown for the new season.
Game on, kids.
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