The Vissitudes of Spring

For fishermen spring is both the benevolent purveyor of hope and the pagan destroyer of dreams.

As the days begin to lengthen winter-blurred eyes turn from tables filled with books, feathers, string, and hooks to begin gazing wistfully out the window. Unnaturally warm days give way to puttering afternoons in the garage reviewing fishing poles as a general would his troops before battle. But all for naught.

March is not only a fearful time for Ceasar, it is just as dreadful for fishermen. Just as the warming sun lulls the winter-addled fishermen into thoughts of early season fishing, those ideas are dashed by a quick turn in the weather with sweeping storms of snow and ice carried on heavy grey clouds that descend from jagged mountains or race across open plains. But worry not, the angler is a resilient fellow. He grumbles at the turn of the weather and his defeat, and he is of stout enough stock to know that his chances of returning to the water were slim at best.

The grace of spring is hope, not assurance, and this hope comes in the form of longer, warmer days. Toiling in the yard on early season work, checking the survival of shrubs, tending the lawn, preparing the garden plot for the coming planting of vegetables: for the fisherman these are all signs of what's to come. But just as he must wait to plant lest a late season frost shrivel the tender roots and leaves of the young plants, so must he too wait for his return to the water. Rare is the trout that shows an interest in the fly as fresh, wet sbow continues to keep the temperature of his own home still wrapped in winter's cold.

Spring is a measure of an angler's patience. It is a test. Caeser may have succumbed to the Ides of March, but the angler must perservere as there is something sinister lurking behind the lengthening days--spring runoff. The warm caress of March and April release the snowy grip of Old Man Winter on the land, gently at first, and then, often, with a sudden and almost violent release. What was days before an ice cold river flowing quietly is suddenly a mud filled torrent that is a danger to man and beast caught unsuspecting along its banks. Such are the vissitudes of spring. Gentle caressessings of days to come on the water are tempered by the physical realities of the annual play of nature as winter gives way to spring before relinquishing to summer.

There is hope in spring, that is her true gift. Sometimes it must be enjoyed with a hot cup of coffee in hand from behind a window, watching as heavy snowflakes pour from the sky. With a sip and a twinkle in his eye the angler knows--soon fishing season will be here.