There I was, standing in the creek, tossing a tiny fly into the outflow of a waste treatment plant as snow came down around me. Geese flew overhead, perhaps going somewhere warmer. A robin was standing directly in the pipe, pecking seemingly invisible morsels of food. Between bites, it stared at me, as if to ask why I was standing there when I had the option of being indoors.
A pair of beavers nonchalantly appeared from some unknown hole in the shore and started swimming  toward me. I was surprised how fat they were, but I guess we all put on a few pounds in the winter. I’ve been constantly craving pasta and stouts.
At the last minute the beavers turned and headed somewhere else.
After an hour, I finally caught a fish- a little greenie found my Beckstrom Special and inhaled it. I don’t know what took him so long to find it, or where his brothers and sisters were.

this is the opposite of how you’re supposed to take fish pictures! The fish looks much smaller than he did in person

When I turned around to leave, I  saw a police car on the bridge about 500 feet downstream from me. I squinted and recognized the man standing on the bridge as the same officer who came to investigate my fishing a few weeks earlier.
He looked at me for a second, and he clearly recognized me as the same insane fisherman he’d seen before. He made a big shrug that seemed to warrant a response.
I waved and gave him a thumbs up.
He pantomimed fishing, as if to confirm that’s what I was doing.
I held up my rod, as if he couldn’t see it before, and waved to confirm “Yes, I’m fishing in the snow in January.”
He shook his head, got into his cruiser and drove away.
As I walked back to my car I picked the layers and layers of ice off my rod.


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