A few days before Christmas I made a conscious effort to spend some time on a stream in the mountains of PA, if for only a short while. The time since I last let the sound of the flowing water ease my mind and carry my worries away with the current seemed so distant. Predictably, the trout were found in the slower water at the tail ends of the pools as recent rains had turned the gin clear brook off-colored and swift.
The cold water of winter had the trout lethargically swiping at my streamers and hookups were hard to come by for the most part. Missing the fish twice prior, the third swing through some flat, slow-moving water proved to be a charm. The brown trout would be the only one brought to hand on this late December day, but it was enough to satisfy what was lacking for too long in the soul of this outdoorsman.