It was during the second week in November, just Drake and I on the Ausable during the days when there were Steelhead runs on that river. Evening set in, shades of gray with a light snow on the ground. Under normal circumstances I find a very specific beauty in grayscale. Black water, white snow, gray skies, trees, heck even the wind felt gray.

Don’t know what it was about that particular evening, but it was lonely. I guess you never know when that kind of thing is going to hit you. Drake was happy, though, the ever optimistic Drake - walking belly deep in the river, sure he was going to catch one of those old, dying salmon. 35 degrees air temperature 36 degrees water temperature and that soaked dog didn’t care at all.

Going through the motions, and after trying all the sneaky small brown, olive, and tan flies I had, I reached into my flybox and grabbed the brightest, most cheerful fly I could find. It was the Fall Favorite. Seemed appropriate.

A father and son had chosen that time to quietly approach and fish downriver from me, all done quite respectfully, which I appreciated. The boy kept working upstream toward Drake and I, and he and Drake exchanged licks and pets. Kids and Dogs almost always seem to get along, like they have their own language or something.

I was almost at the tailout of a drift. I don’t know what I was thinking about when the fish hit. Doesn’t matter, because like always, the entire world, feelings, and attitudes instantly change when a Steelhead takes a fly. Twenty inches of bright chrome cleared the water about 40 feet upstream of me. “That can’t be…” was all I was able to say before my drag screamed and the line sliced through the water from my downstream drift position to the exact upstream location where the fish was airborne again, in fact several times. That sure was my fish. For now.

I looked around to see that the boy had moved up to just a couple of feet from me with eyes that said Halloween, Christmas, Fouth of July and ice cream all in the same expression. Without thinking I handed the rod to him. “Here”, I said. “He’s yours now”.

His dad came upstream and gently and kindly coached his son for the 10 minute battle. That may not seem like a long time to you, but for me it was a 3 hour movie that I now watch over and over again several times a year. Plenty of jumps, runs, etc. all of which the boy handled well. I’ve lost alot of Steelhead in my time, but man did I want this one to stay on. It did. In my net the fish was polished bumper chrome with a hint of rose all along the lateral line. As I worked the fly out, we admired the fish as I held it’s face below the crystal clear water. No one had any issue with letting it go, the father and son had obviously done that before and taking the memory from the river was going to suit them just fine.

Of course we all shook hands. Of course they thanked me profusely. Neither of them, however, nor the creator of the Fall Favorite will ever know what they gave to me on that very warm…cold dark November day.

“I can’t hardly walk sometimes”, my friend Ed said as we talked in the store the other day. “My knees, man, they’re killing me”. Ed’s a big guy, rides his bike to keep in shape, does what he can to cope with a long term ailment of the knees. We kept trying to put together a fishing outing wading in the river, but it was going to be tough.

A few days later he came bouncing through the door shouting “liquid gold, baby, liquid gold”! Apparently his doctor had given him a couple of cortisone shots, and he felt like he was on top of the world. “Let’s go fishing”, he said. Ok.

We got to our local park, got geared up, waded in and positioned ourselves upstream of a pool we thought would get active when the Hex flies started. We caught some fish here and there, certainly enough to keep things interesting. Ed caught what seemed like a half dozen rock bass from the same exact square foot of river at the end of a log. Rocky Racoons, we called them. We had a great laugh about that one.

We caught a few smallmouth, but it was a light night. Not many risers even though it was a good hex hatch. I love those little things. It’s fun just to watch them dance up and down and fly full out up and down the river in a steady stream. “This is like being in Disneyworld or something”, I said to Ed. He agreed.

Well before dark we decided to head back to the car where a tailgate, some cold beverages, and some friendly talk awaited. I looked forward to that part of fishing just as much as the fishing itself. It would be a great distraction and a re-focus on what’s important in life, as the personal life still had it’s persistent pain. You’d agree we’ve all been through it if you knew what it was. I talk about it because it’s part of life, and life has it’s twists, turns, starts…and stops. Seems like it’s never smooth, settled, sure, or predictable. When will I ever understand that? Maybe life is more like fishing (or a box of chocolates) than I’d like to believe. Oh well.

“How’s your knees?”, I asked Ed. “Fine”, he replied. “I told you man, liquid gold.” The wonders of modern medicine. Here was a guy who couldn’t fish, and now was. It made me respect my Father, a world renown orthopedic surgeon, even more, as I’m sure he’s improved lives like this on a daily basis. I sure didn’t respect him enough then, or tell him how much I respect him even now.

Back at the car the friendly jabbing back and forth, that had been a big part of the evening, continued. Who caught the smallest fish, who caught more, who tangled more, caught more trees, etc. Plenty of kidding with absolutely no risk of hurt feelings. Man I love it when you’re with people like that. A few other guys came up from the river and joined right in. How cool is that. How cool is it that they had a couch in the back of their truck they found on the road. It was in good shape, and they asked if I wanted it. I did need one, but nah, thanks anyway.

“Here”, Ed said. I looked around and there he was holding a cigar. “These were soaked in Bourbon and Bitters”.
In my simple world, one of the nicest things a guy can do is hand me a cigar. I like them, I’m not crazy about them, but they are good, especially in a setting like that. I lit it up and savored the unique flavor. Ed went into the details of where he got them, how they were made, and so on.

Well, the park closes at 10:00, and it was 9:58. Time to leave, or the Ranger would lock the gate and we’d have to sleep out under the stars until the next morning. Hmmm.