Retirement, winter nymphing -- and a whole lot of gumption

Tom Welch
Registered Maine Guide


Magalloway Guide Services offers guided fishing trips in northwestern Maine and southern Maine. Founder Tom Welch, a Registered Maine Guide, focuses on fly fishing excursions on rivers and streams in the Rangeley, Maine, Region, and in the Cumberland and York County Regions of Maine.



 Clients can enjoy a range of fishing experiences, 

from the challenging waters of the Magalloway River to the more gentle but nonetheless productive waters of the Upper Kennebago River in the Rangeley area. In Southern Maine, clients can enjoy productive trout and bass fishing in the Presumpscot River, the Saco River and the Royal River, among others.
Visit us on Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/Magalloway-Guide-Services-Tom-Welch-Registered-Maine-Guide-713288905423592/?ref=hl

I'm going to talk about what it takes to stretch the all-too-short fishing season into a year-long passion.

It's called gumption.

More on that in a bit.

Retirement

People tell me I don't write nearly enough these days, which is a bit odd, considering I spent 17 years as a professional writer. It's not that I don't have subject matter; my work as a Registered Maine Guide could fill several books a year. I've pondered this, and concluded that the problem is not motivation or even opportunity. I have plenty of both.  I've occasionally blamed my hiatus on my dying laptop, whose keys are failing, one by one, like an old neglected piano.

     No, the culprit is "retirement."

     In the final years of my last career, I dreamt of the day when I could rise and shine with the rhythms of nature, and do as I pleased until it was time to sleep. No more jumping to the commands of clients or others; no more being shackled to schedules (most not mine); no more being driven by the stress of tending to other people's problems. No, retirement would the end of all that and the beginning of the New Beginning.

And it has been all of that. All, except for the inescapable, universal constant over which none of us has any control -- time.

     Yes, the cliché is true: in retirement you are busier than you ever were. Or, at least, so it seems. The truth is -- and Einstein knew this before any of us -- time is relative. In the case of retirement, it is relative to how one maneuvers his body and soul through a day, a week or a year. In other words, for every thing you stop doing, another thing moves in to take its place. It's kind of like trying to empty a stream with a bucket. For every bucket of water you cast ashore, another rushes in to take its place. Hence, when you retire, every bucketful of your career(s) that you gleefully toss behind you is displaced with another bucketful of, well, things to do.

So that is where we find me; standing in a stream with a bucket, which in the grand scheme, is not a bad place to be. Of course, I'd rather be standing in a stream with a fly rod, which brings me to the subject of this blog.

Winter fishing and 'gumption'

     I've read through my blogs this past year, and I see a pattern that others may have already noticed. I seem to be a seasonal blogger. I lamented the cruelty of winter as it refused to let me fish. I anticipated the arrival of spring.  And I celebrated the rapture of June dry fly fishing. Now, as winter approaches (again), I am moved to write something about fishing again.

Call me nostalgic, but as the cold settles in, I find myself longing for the warmer days of July, the big mayflies and legions of caddis swarming in the shade of the upper Kennebago River alders, or in the warm dusk along the Rangeley River (when dusk was, oh, 9 p.m., not 4:30). When I catch myself in this daydream, I am reminded that fishing season, at least in southern Maine, is not a three- or four-month season, but a 10- or 11-month opportunity. That is, if  you have the gumption to put the waders on, trudge through the snow, and descend into one of several year-round fishing streams.

     As I settle into my 60's, I'm not sure I have the gumption anymore. But this season, I'm going to try.

     I may well report to you next that it was a nice idea, but that I never got around to it. Lack of gumption, don't you know. But as I sit here today, thin shads of ice forming along the southeast shore of the little pond down the street, I'm saying I'm going to do it.

     Although northwestern Maine is my fishing nirvana, I appreciate southern Maine when the regular fishing season is over at the end of September or October.  York and Cumberland counties offer some good year-round trout fishing opportunities, as a small handful of rivers in the area will hold trout throughout the winter when the ponds and lakes freeze. Of course, the fact that they will hold trout, does not necessarily mean you will catch them. But that's fishing.

     Unlike the ideal conditions of June and July, winter -- and even early spring, in these parts -- presents formidable challenges. First, there's the cold air. Then there's the cold wind. And finally, there's the cold water, with temperatures not far from freezing swirling around your legs and feet with cruel and numbing indifference.

Gumption.

     With gumption, you still have the opportunity in southern Maine to dip your favorite nymph rig into water that actually holds feeding fish in the winter months. Yes, the passion beckons, without the limitations of government-imposed 'seasons.'  Yes, you're actually fishing.

     But only with gumption, mind you. And gumption is easier said than acquired.

     Webster's Dictionary defines "gumption" as "... 1. Initiative; aggressiveness; resourcefulness ... 2. courage; spunk; guts ..." The "courage; spunk [and] guts" part makes me wonder whether I've bitten off more than I can chew with my winter fishing declaration. Maybe Webster should have added "youth" to the definition. Then I would surely not have what it takes, and the whole discussion would end. But alas, I couldn't find it in my 10-pound Webster's Encyclopedic Unabridged Dictionary, so I am left to torture myself with this fancy of winter fishing.

     So, tomorrow, the next day, or the day after that; or maybe next month, I will put the waders on, make my way down to the river, slide over the frozen edge, stand in the bone-numbing water, and toss my rig upstream into the current. If I catch a fish, then it will be a celebration. If I don't, then at least I can say I went fishing.

     If I do none of the above, I'll let you know. It all comes down to gumption.

Magalloway Guide Services can be reached at magallowayguide@gmail.com or our facebook page at Magalloway Guide Services ( https://www.facebook.com/pages/Magalloway-Guide-Services/713288905423592. ) Don't wait; the calendars are filling up.