We return to Alberta tomorrow. We leave New Zealand, with the leaves drying and willows turning yellow at the first signs of the changing season, late Feb eerily similar to late August at home - the warm, dry weather taking its toll on the trees. The rivers are low and warm. The nights only now cooling quite noticeably. The afternoons are calmer but take just a touch longer to warm. The highways are quiet. All is peaceful.
So it was on our last foray into the back country, to explore a new road and a couple of new valleys, mostly for the fun of it and definitely for next year's trip. The salmon are in many waters and the trout are a little more than just put off - they aren't happy their big, distant cousins are in the small habitat, and certainly aren't keen to share a bath tub.
So it was we were driving out from that last jaunt up a remote, lonely valley that we thought of a fish I'd missed on 3 successive rises to my mayfly. I stood above it high on the bank and each time it rose to my mayfly I struck early. The optics from above were starkly different to water level: from above you saw the head pop but you strike too soon often, as the large headed trophies need to turn or return to the water prior to striking. I missed each take back 6 weeks or so, simply pulling the fly out of an open mouth prior to that turn. It was at the end of the 5 weeks of high, muddy, miserable weather and water and that moment more frustrating because of the negative run of conditions.
But on this drive out the water was low, cold, clear. And there was enough time to walk over to the pool and see if it was there. We were close by and it was worth a look. And as we walked over and peered over the bank, the mayflies were popping and my fish was popping like mad.
It was epic. And I got him this go 'round. And it was the greatest moment and memory we'll both take with us from this trip. Me for being so engaged in the fishing, Amelia in the video. And it was epic.
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