As many of you already know, I live in a part of the world that has few fly fishing opportunities during the winter months. Sure, one is always welcome to take a fly rod down to the mouth of a number of excellent rivers on the Great Lakes if they don't mind thrashing away against an often brisk bone-chilling wind. Some anglers figure that dedication really becomes evident when one fishes in any kind of weather, including those numbing winter wind chills we have been receiving in Ontario. I just don't enjoy it.

Nevertheless, I do have a major case of early spring fever. Even though the weather here is not conducive to great fishing at the moment, I have been feeling an extraordinary desire for spring to arrive and the steelhead runs to begin.

There are probably a number of reasons for this present malady. I love to be on a river, lost in my own thoughts, sometimes hypnotized while watching the water flowing and listening to its gurgles. Sometimes I figure I do my best thinking while out fishing, although some wold probably want me to define 'best thinking' - and suggest that my definition of quality thinking does not equate with theirs. Trying to keep the tips of your fingers warm while fumbling when tying a knot in the leader is not conducive to great thinking by any definition, however.

Sometimes thoughts such as those that creep into my mind about the recent death of my father seem to be of the type that are best thought while wading alone in a river. The only noises heard ar those that seem to meld with those thoughts - rushing water, birds chirping, the odd rustling of a squirrel in a tree, and of course the fly line as it cuts through the air. No telephone interruptions, news reports, or neighbors involved in domestic disputes to interrupt the steady stream of thoughts. Have you ever noticed how the sounds of nature seem to have their own symphonic style and rhythm?

Perhaps another reason for my spring fever is the fact that I'm moving this week. In a way, I am going 'home.' When I was younger, my dad would sometimes take me fishing up in the area of Ontario that he would call The Headwaters. We would head to the Orangeville area and cruise the backroads in his little Renault 12 looking for likely streams to fish. Of course, I would point to every culvert we crossed, hoping he would stop the car so I could fish. He would laugh and say, "Och, that's just a wee sheugh! There's no fish in there," in his gentle Northern Irish accent, and we would drive on to something more promising.

I developed a strong fondness for this part of Ontario, with its sheughs that dried up in the summer, streams that contained wonderful wild speckled trout, and small lakes and ponds that help feisty bass and perch. For many years, for a couple of weeks during the summer, I would head off to Camp Saugeen, nestled in the Saugeen River Valley near Paisley. On those long trips from Toronto, I always felt that sense of 'this is here I want to live' as the old camp bus rumbled through Orangeville and westward along Hwy. 9. Even though I was travelling to camp to enjoy activities like canoeing, archery and hiking, I would have given almost anything for that bus driver to stop at every stream and river we crossed so I could fish it. But, it wasn't just the fishing that caught my attention; the air was (and still is today) cleaner, more pleasant to breathe, the natural symphonic melody was more noticeable, and there just seemed to be something about the whole area that I wanted to call it home.

About 8 years ago, I finally was able to call this area home. I lived in a very small hamlet that, according to some maps, does not even exist. Although the commute into Toronto could be long (in the winter, sometimes it was impossible to even drive due to the snow storms), it was worth it to me to live practically right on the Grand River, and be able to fish it any time I wanted.

Not only the Grand, but I could explore all those streams that I had gazed upon while sitting on that camp bus. I even discovered that some of those culverts that my dad called 'wee sheughs' contained small trout. One day while driving backroads that my dad and I must have missed, I found a very small lake about 15 minutes from where I lived. The following weekend I fished that lake and delightedly found that some very nice bass and jumbo perch happened to live in that lake! Ah, that's the life ... discovering places to fish close by and finding that they are actually worthwhile to return to.

Circumstances a few years later caused me to have to leave the area. I left, however, without saying goodbye, as I knew that I would be back. I wasn't sure how it would be accomplished, but I knew that one day again, I would be able to fish those Central-Western Ontario streams whenever I wanted. Although I resently live near some excellent rivers such as Duffin's Creek, the Wilmot and the Ganaraska, my own comfort level increases while on the upper Maitland, Saugeen and the various meadow creeks that don't seem to have names.

Next week I will again be living in this part of Ontario, in another small town called Formosa. In less that 30 minutes in any direction, I can be on some great fishing waters. Already I have done some scouting, and believe me, I can't wait to get that 3 wt. rod out that I custom built with the trout filled creeks that are nearby, in mind. Of course, it gets even better when I think about the spring runs in the Saugeen. I am also looing forward to drifting a few Cat's Whiskers to the bass in that hold in some of the pools in that river too.

Then, there is the Grand, a hop, step, and a jump away, where I can either fish below the Shand Dam and get into some lovely Browns, or above it and hope to tangle with a toothy pike. Oh, and did I mention that my office will be 10 minutes from the Forks of the Credit? It's giong to be a wonderful spring, and I am looking forward to reporting here about my trips, the fish, the flies and of course my thoughts, if they are fit to publish!

I do hope that you will forgive me for this additional personal note, but it would be remiss of me if I did not make mention of the fact that this ability to again flyfish the rivers I love is due in part to a great business partner who has helped me achieve this goal. Perhaps one day, we'll have Wendy out tangling with a toothy pike or wearing waders while drifting nymphs! Thanks, Wendy. Just bear with me if I spend a few extra hours fishing and away from the office - I'll make sure the work still gets done.

I think I am going to go and tie up some stoneflies now.

Last Year On All-About Flyfishing:

The Guild Gets Going The Custom Rod Builders Guild Conclave was awesome! Two Years Ago On All-About Flyfishing:
Mid Winter Blues Part II
15 cm of snow just fell in my backyard. Fishing in Africa looks very tempting right now.