The day should have been a perfect spring trout fishing day. It started as a drizzly morning, but by noon had transitioned to puffy white clouds peppering an otherwise blue and sunny sky. The air was warm. Just enough of a breeze to keep the hatches down. The water was not cloudy but had enough turbidity you couldn’t see the bottom. The problem was the flow. It was fast, but not angry. From the looks of things there had been a substantial gully-washer the evening before, but long enough ago that the water had fallen back down a few inches, based on the water mark on the rocks. Today would be a nymphing day, if we could get them down low enough and slow enough.

Water like this yields more frustration than it does trout. Many false hook sets. Many snags from undertoes on the stream bottom and limbs washed downstream and lodged into rocks. It is tough to get a good drift. The occasional take is tough to land as the current gives any large-bodied fish all the advantage. Trout can be caught though, and they were. Small, beautiful rewards for a day spent fighting the current.

Looking back on the day, the thing that stands out most was the power of the river. High water is a dangerous thing. It pushes you downstream. It lodges your feet under rocks. It washes your feet off of rocks. It can sweep your feet right out from under you. You can quickly find yourself in situations that are simply not good. At the time you are in it, you are simply focused on the task at hand and you view the current as something you must overcome. It is only when looking back that you recognize the full hazard and question the decision to wade in deeper.

Many times over the years I waded into deep water. Many times I found myself in rivers unknown to me. Looking back, I question my judgement. Looking back, I feel the hardship all over again. Looking back, I see the Providence that saved me.