The Last Cast

It was late in June, a month that wasn't very friendly for fishing last year. The rainfall had far surpassed the average levels, therefor it was a month long of blown out streams, leaving limited if any places left fishable. On this day, a Sunday Ross and I set out in hopes to catch if we were lucky, a fish or two with the possibility of hitting some nearby brookie streams. We set sails for a favorite stream that was flowing at a CFS that would keep even a hardcore kayak junkie at bay. We arrived at the stream to find that it was basically one big class v rapid, there were very limited areas that looked feasible to even get a drift in. We each found a break in the overgrown rapid and working it over. To our surprise we began picking up fish on some highly visible patterns. It seemed as if the fish took to these small pockets behind structure and just off the shoreline to escape the wrath of the thrashing current. We traveled the road paralleling the stream and pulled off on the rare occasion that we saw a fishable seam. Each seam held many fish, we turned a day where we hoped to get outside and land a few fish into a solid day.

On the trip homeward we fished a few brookie streams in hopes of finishing the day off with a few little beauties. They fished with mixed results. The scenery on these little streams though, is always the best part. Ross picked up quite a few more than I had, it was starting to get late in the day at this point, "Bout ready to pack it up Stew?" Ross yelled over the noise of the roaring streams that was on a normal day but a trickle. One last cast I yelled, just as I always seem do. I walked up to a small waterfall and shot a cast in, BAM, an aggressive little gem of a brookie hit my fly as if he wasn't sure he'd ever see another meal. After enjoying his beauty for a few short seconds I yelled back "Ok now let's call it." We took the scenic walk back to the truck and made it there just in time for the rain to pick up, as was the theme of the summer last year. We smiled as we drove home and laughed as we thought we were just making the trip to "only get out of the house".

As Monday morning came rolling in, it was just another routine day at work and as usual I was still coming down off of my high from spending the weekend in my true home, the outdoors. It was a nice cool morning, in the mid 60s on the mercury, my favorite type of weather. I remember looking into the sky and thinking wow, the sun. I had almost forgot how it had looked. Just at the time everything went black and I felt a feeling I've never felt before. As I came back to I wasn't sure what happened, I frantically felt across my entire body to see if anything was injured. The ambulance arrived and took me to the hospital. There, I was told it was more than luck that kept me alive, it was a miracle. What I felt was 7200 volts of electricity racing through my body and out of my leg. A piece of equipment that I was replacing was mounted next to a feed line and with my lack of concentration I had not realized. After a few nights in the hospital and a few months of recovery I started to get back to my normal life and was finally able to make my return to fishing in the fall, This time with my rod and gear, I carried with me a different outlook on life. In the months leading up to now it's been fishing that has served as a major recovery for me. Pushing myself to walk further and wade harder each time. Now I'm in as good of shape as I've ever been mentally and physically.

So wade a little bit deeper, don't be afraid to lose your flies in that log jam, drive as far as you can to explore new rivers, share tips with a fellow fisherman, share laughs on the streams with friends or family, fish in the pouring rain, the bitter cold, high water, and never been afraid to take that one last cast, for you never know when it'll truly be your last.