Spring has settled in the lowlands of Colorado
and as we approach June. The high-country lakes and reservoirs are beginning to thaw, and I’m fondly reminded of a neglected pastime. It’s always this time of year when I begin to think about fishing
and miss all of its great grossness. As the temperatures rise I first feel the phantom grit of worm guts between my fingers, or smell the freshly spilled innards of a still writhing trout from memories of fishing trips past.
It’s in these moments that I have the sudden urge to rush off to Wal-Mart, get a license and head up the pass. But then the phone rings, or I’m alerted of an email, or it’s time to go to work, and the hope of an impromptu fishing adventure fades away. In my adult life, too many summers have completely vanished this way for me.
I don’t think it’s a unique story. Carving out time for recreational hobbies amidst the hustle and bustle can be a chore, but well worth it considering the fun, relaxation and beer consumption that typically comes with it.
In the same way that I miss fishing I also miss bowling, golf, foosball, laser-tag, bocce ball, beer pong and roller hockey. Alas, I haven’t figured out this whole space-time continuum situation, and/or, more specifically, I haven’t devised a way to control time with my mind units in a way that stretches a day into a month and a month into a year so that I can master all of my neglected pastimes and learn German. Until that day — which I’m starting to think may never arrive — I need to choose one activity and get as much out of it as I can.
Given the wellspring of beautiful opportunity here in Colorado, and the perfect peace I find when I’m in the thick of it, fishing is the thing. Hands down, absolutely.
With the rushing rivers like the Arkansas and Colorado connecting lakes and reservoirs throughout the state, there’s no shortage of opportunities from the peaks to the plains. And with the added bonus of beautiful scenery, sunshine and the feel of the fight on the end of the line, it’s tough to choose the artificial fog and cardboard pizza smells of laser-tag over the freshness that is fishing.
No matter what is done to prevent it, the time I carve out for fishing in May will erode and evaporate. But if I can land just one fish, or at least spend hours of warm, peaceful time giving it a try, I’ll equate that with true summertime success.
Here fishy, fishy...
Nic R. Krause was born a cranky, curmudgeon of a child in a Minnesota suburb. He was plucked from the muggy tundra and relocated to Colorado Springs 22 years ago. From intramural jai-alai, to his complicated relationship with the Minnesota Vikings, Nic, plainly stated, is bonkers for sports. Follow him on Twitter @NicRKrause.