Cold Comfort

Some folks think winter fly fishing is strictly for masochists. You know, the kind who enjoy frozen fingers and explaining why standing in water just a degree or two from ice is so much better than sitting by a fire and watching the ball game. But there is an edged austerity in the experience—a hurts-so-good, bare-boned allure that’s tough to articulate. The crowds vanish, leaving unsullied pools to the dedicated (or slightly unhinged). Trout, though pickier, become predictable in their deep-water haunts. Sure, you'll deal with iced guides and the occasional “what the heck am I doing out here” crisis while watching your indicator drift untouched for hours. But when a fish finally acknowledges your humble offering of a size-22 midge—the one you can barely see, much less tie on with numb fingers—you'll understand why some of us choose riverside hypothermia over another Netflix marathon. Just remember to bring hand warmers. Lots and lots of hand warmers.

In this week’s edition:

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Image by Mike Doughty

IN THE RIFFLES

Image by Spencer Durrant

I’m not sure if it’s a sign of getting old (although many folks here at MidCurrent would take umbrage at my claim to be “old”) but this winter hasn’t inspired the same level of fishing dedication others have.


I routinely look forward to winter fly fishing. The solitude and quiet are the main selling points, as is the fact that nearly all of my personal best trout have been caught between November and April. I love wet wading in the summer, and fishing high-country streams, but winter has its own charm that’s impossible to ignore.


Until this year…


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