I missed the third digit of the snowpack measurement yet instinctively I knew it really didn’t matter. Three digits means a repeat of last year’s watery excesses, and while I resolved myself to keep working on the dry flies like I’d planned, they were unlikely to see much action.

There’ll be plenty of opportunities for fishing, but you can start ticking off the hatches that are off their timetable due to a high water year. Their predictability a thing of the past as they dribble off in smatterings versus the more traditional en masse emergence.

Shad will be for the lucky few, those folks that know their river well enough to seek the proper depth despite the torrential release from the dam upriver, and those that own boats …

… or seek guides, who have boats …

Fishing is like rooting for the home team, and some years there’s that sickening feeling when the quarterback slumps to the ground clutching his knee, and the crowd begins to deflate with, “there’s always next year.”

Sure I’m whining, but only because it’s tough to get mad at something we so sorely need. A billion people without water by 2050, and I’m already making excuses why twice as much has already prevented me from catching a damn thing.

I’ll giggle madly when I get to set down all this drab and mottled, so I can tie another 20 dozen of the brightly garbed beadchain bling, most of which will still be unscathed in the box for next year. I moved to the second box of Shad flies last year, a mixture of anticipation and restocking followed by two years of high water and forced to go cheek to jowl at the few spots it wouldn’t sweep you off your feet.

A single fish hooked for all my efforts.

Again I’ll have an entire week’s vacation primed for the first hint of fish. My boss will gaze at me each Monday morning expectantly, and I’ll be gazing at the floorboards – wishing I could tell him this was the week he would have to make due with the second stringers  …

…while I treat the steady stream of casting injury and sunburn, complain about sore shoulders and limp wrists, and how I can still cast twice as far but only for half as long.