First of February.

Laptop died. Camera died. And there’s been a slew of nasty weather and other obligations. But green fingers of daffodils are sprouting up along the front porch, and I figured maybe it was time to get out and see something.

They must’ve had two or three more feet of water down here, judging by the log jam tied up along the bridge. I wondered if it came from the big deep pool upstream, whether it’d blown back through the pool it abandoned two or three years ago. Hopefully not, that big deep pool was good for two or three nice fish on a hopper when it’s hot. I didn’t make it that far- brought boots, but no waders.

Instead I tied on an olive beadhead bugger and watched dark forms chase it, thunk it sideways in a run downstream, wondering if they’d dug redds before the storm and if they’d try again now that it passed. Losing a year class wouldn’t be the end of the world, especially after the last couple high water years, especially with the groundwater charged and stable as long as anyone can forecast this season. And there’s little places- headwater streams and tributaries tucked away where flow is less, where gravel moves less, where a couple amorous fish could meet up and make out another generation.

Spring isn’t here, yet. But nearly.

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