It is mid-February in a part of the world that used to celebrate Washington’s birthday (George, that is, not Denzel) but now loudly and mindlessly announces its latest sales on something called Presidents’ Day weekend. And there’s snow on the ground. Actually there has been snow on the ground for a few weeks, the bottom layer of which has been compacted into ice that seems tougher than steel. And yesterday more white insult was added to frozen injury to the tune of seven inches. A brief lull of thawing rain but that turned back into snow overnight.
These are days when I run my fingers along the spines of many angling books on the shelves and wonder how long it will be before the ponds and streams will thaw and the fish start feeding again. And when I can semi-comfortably stand on a bank and throw a line into these waters.
It will be a while longer I think. Another storm is forecast for late tomorrow.