A fish of the North, swimming in the peat stained streams of the muskeg and the crystal clear waters of the mountains.
Irridescent sides, colours shifting in the sunlight.
Everyone who wanders into the hills, through the bush and along river banks has at least one good one.
But they’re best told in the glow of a campfire.
All mornings should start like this.
Standing in a canoe as it glides along the surface, casting flies into the lily pads. The sun peaking over the treetops just before 5 am. The
It’s an inevitability of life up here.
The muskeg and swamps interspersed with thick forest and hayfields create prime mosquito habitat. Add in extra standing water from a long
The wait. For spring. For the ice to leave. For spare time. For decent weather. Eventually the wait has to end. Make some time. Fuck the weatherman. He’s usually wrong anyways.
Maps have been studied. Rumours investigated. Fly boxes filled. Rods cleaned, reels greased, and fly lines stretched. The boat is out of storage. The engine tuned. The 2013
The skies darken.
The temperatures drop.
The forecast calls for two feet of snow as a northern cold front moves in. Its a quick reminder that, around here an early spring