Slipping Away

My aunt still can’t wrap her mind around the idea of catch-and-release fishing. I don’t blame her, because the idea of going through all the trouble to catch a fish, just to let it go, is on its face, ludicrous.

It’s a vital tool for conservation, and ensures we have great fisheries for years to come, but it’s hard for non-anglers to understand the satisfaction that comes from letting a trout slip from your hands. You win a short-term victory over the trout, you have all the power and control over its future, and you choose to let it get back to whatever is was doing before it ate your fly. You let the moment you worked for slip away.

I feel like I’ve let this summer slip away, although that’s probably not true. It’s been cold enough in the mornings here in Wyoming this past week that I’ve almost thought about ditching my shorts and pulling out the jeans again. Football is back on, and there’s a noticeable lack of light in the evenings that wasn’t there just a month ago. I’m not sure where August went, or how I let that month slip away.

I had a goal at the beginning of summer to spend more time in the high country, specifically on lakes, learning the lay of the land. I’ve only lived in this part of Wyoming for two years, so I’m just getting my bearings.

Time on the lakes hasn’t come often enough. Between work, travel, and family, I’ve been on the move since June. I’ve fished a lot—I even spent time in Alaska—but I haven’t explored nearly as much as I wanted to.

And with just a month left before elk season starts, I’m quickly running out of time. The best fishing of the year, in my opinion, is the month of September, so I have plenty of opportunities ahead. But how much can I cram into a short window? A lot, probably, but not nearly enough.

I reckon most of us who fish feel this way—that we’ve let opportunities pass us by. And, a lot like my aunt, we can’t understand how we let the chance to spend more time on the water slip away.