Howard found my blog earlier this year, and we started a conversation. It wasn't long before one of the Little Voices® told me that I needed to go fishing with this guy. So, we've been talking about it for quite some time. Emails, phone calls, smoke signals, maybe even a little bit of telepathy.
So, there's talking, and then there's making &$@# happen. If you're reading this, there's a decent chance that you also read Howard's blog. And you might be aware that our friend Howard has had some challenges getting out to fish. No doubt, this has been frustrating and painful for the man.
This is where my Messiah Complex kicks in, or some other form of narcissistic delusion. Hertz certainly agrees. When I arrived at the Denver airport Hertz location, they had truncated my first name on their pickup board from "Christopher" to "Christ." And I must be intimidating, because it took extensive negotiations just to arrange a meet-up Thursday night. (Real story, I had told him that I would track him down and bring the party to him even if he was impounded in the hospital for some reason. He momentarily made me think that we'd be watching the Broncos defeat the Panthers in a hospital room, but he let me off the hook pretty easy.)
Our paths have been proximate before. When I worked for the University of Colorado from 2008 to 2011, I had an apartment that was probably less than a mile from his house. I suggested we meet up at the Old Chicago restaurant where I used to watch Monday Night Football, so of course he knew exactly where I meant.
Blah blah blah, I hear you say. You went there to fish! And fish we did! We had talked earlier about perhaps trekking up to Rocky Mountain National Park, and when he'd shared photos of the Blue River in August, I fell instantly in love with that. Then he mentioned Clear Creek. Howard loves Clear Creek, where you can catch a trout and get hit by a car while standing in the river. After scratching my proverbial head for a few seconds, I could see on his face and in his eyes the depth of his connection with that water.
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| Clear Creek and the highway |
Saturday morning, we ran to Wal-Mart so I could grab a one-day non-resident fishing license, then headed south to Golden. From there, it was uphill and west, following Clear Creek. When we made that right-hand turn, I could see and feel a change in Howard. Part of him lives there, and he's a more complete person when he gets to meet up with that part.
We bypassed
his (formerly?) favorite spot because of ongoing construction and eventually found a spot that wasn't too difficult to climb down to. We stopped and geared up.
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| Tangled up, right out of the tailgate |
Howard made one thing clear: "I'm not here to catch fish, I'm here to test this new, slim profile fly line." OOOOooooookaaaaaayyy. Excuse accepted and filed. :) I rigged up
Monday (see Glossary), put on my "guard socks" and boots, and went wading. (The wading was almost a little too deep for male comfort, for a moment.) Along the way, I kept an eye on my companion.
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| Uh-oh, a wind knot? |
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| Howard at work, product testing... |
After lunch, we back-tracked to his favorite spot. I was impressed with the holes and runs on this wide stretch, even though he said the water is the lowest he's ever seen it. It made for good wading and even some catching. And I got to unleash
Monday's full potential.
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If this was hockey, I'd get called for high-sticking. Nah, I'm actually
playing Luke Skywalker, holding my blue lightsabre over my head! |
The weather couldn't have been better. And I am now officially in love with
Monday, my Epic 686 combined with a 406 Fly Lines DT. I hit every spot on the river I wanted to hit, even with a breeze. I think I'm finally ready to do a full review. Soon. If my neck quits hurting.
Today, a pair of Fading Anglers shared some time and some water. And, just for a moment, the hourglass paused.
