A Mountain Ghetto Good Time

This is the busy season in the fly shop. The rivers are easy to wade and the heat is pushing everyone who owns a rod up into the high country—first with a pit stop into their favorite Boulder shop to see me and Randy. So, our hours “on stage” start piling up fast.  By the time my days off roll around I have put up close to sixty hours rigging reels, teaching fly tyers and doing cast work in the turn lane out front. And doing my best to keep a straight face when asked, You know of any lakes up near Breckenridge where I can go and let my girlfriend flick it around a bit?  You mean a fly…right? Uh…yeah. Why, what did I say?  (Insert a Beavis and Butt-head chortle).

Most free days I am up at the ass crack (of dawn) and off with Erin and Banjo (the dog) with rods in hand. Off to find adventure and maybe some fish. Even longer hours. No rest for the wicked…or the addicted. But today I treated myself with a proper sleep-in. You always feel so good to catch up, but this moment of blissful relaxation is only short lived. Soon you are laying in bed feeling like the worst sort of garden slug. You have missed the best fishing. Your buddies have been on the water for hours and are undoubtedly having their best day of the season so far… Your self loathing festers until you feel like a forgotten single uncle rotting into his mattress. TODAY is gonna be a GOOD DAY!

I jumped out of bed and did my chores. Watered the tomatoes and split some firewood. Winter in the mountains is creeping up on us…crouched on top of the Rockies waiting for the day to jump down on us while we are still hanging laundry outside in t-shirts.  Now, adding to the wood pile does work up a good sweat (heats ya twice, they say) but, more emotionally important, the work erases any guilt about not being the first one on the river or at the mud flats. The carp are for sure long off the flats by now…damn. But, as I swung the maul I got to thinking. I know a hidden and mostly secret flat way outta town that is so good it can sometimes fish well even in the rain or the middle of the hottest day in August. TODAY is gonna be a GOOD DAY!

Erin and I geared up and drove down out of the mountains at about noon. We stopped at a grocery store and bought some grub. She went with a bag of organically grown grapes (and washed them with a bottle of water right there in the parking lot…weirdo!) I, on the other hand, sprung for a plate of cold crispy fried chicken and a 32 oz. Miller…’cause I was lookin’ for a piece of the High Life…yeah! TODAY is gonna be a GOOD DAY!

And it was a damn good day. We rolled the windows down, basked in the wind and the sun and blasted some Dylan…people are crazy and times are strange…I'm locked in tight, I'm out of range…I used to care, but things have changed…The mudflats were baking in the sun and the carp were lurking in close…eager to chase down anything that moved. Erin and I wet waded through the thick cattails and swampy muck and hunted carp like they were Viet Cong…hooah!  Lot of water under the bridge, Lot of other stuff too…don't get up gentlemen, I'm only passing through…