The quiet interspersed with the cursing of the frustrated, the outrage of those whose water was trodden upon carelessly, and the high pitched whine of those that forgot their boots, rods, tippet, or dry socks.

Opening Day, and for those about to partake we salute you.

With snow dominating the high country and a week long storm enroute, with high water, discoloration, and suffering the tertiary phases of a long fishless winter – about 8 million anglers will stuff themselves into the pristine, and love every minute of hardship.

… and fish will be caught, only much smaller and fewer than the stories will describe come Monday.

    He that shall live this day, and see old age,
    Will yearly on the vigil feast his neighbours,
    And say ‘To-morrow is the Opener.’
    Then will he strip his sleeve and show his scars,
    And say ‘These wounds I had on Opening day.’
    Old men forget; yet all shall be forgot,
    But he’ll remember, with advantages,
    What feats he did that day. Then shall our names,
    Familiar in his mouth as household words-
    Wooly the Bugger, Adams and Cahill,
    Hendrickson, Gordon and Copper John-
    Be in their flowing cups freshly rememb’red.

The rest of us intelligent fellows will claim we weren’t planning to go anyways, how it would be a terrible imposition and the scene of great carnage and angst, but we’re lying.

We’ll slink away from the coffeepot knowing we held our manhood cheap.

Tags: trout season opener, trout fishing, fly fishing, St. Crispin’s Day, Shakespeare, fly fishing humor,