We're Outdoorsmen

I’d be lying if I said the thought didn’t cross my mind, if even for a moment, but pushing back our opening day weekend to avoid what was looking like a certain washout would have bucked decades of tradition. The line my uncle said over the phone that finally put any notion to bed was, “We’re outdoorsmen.” He was right. Fuck the forecast. We were going when we always go and we were going to enjoy ourselves no matter the conditions. 

It’s funny how things work out because we ended up with two days of better than expected weather before any rain fell and the following weekend was a soaker anyway (ask my buddy Chad who camped along a Natchaug River well over its banks). Our deluge eventually came on Friday night, yet by then we had camp pretty damn tight with ample pop-up tents, tarps, and cordage, as well as a signal fire going throughout.

As it tends to be, the food on this trip was a highlight. Aaron made an incredible paella for dinner on night one that included Bluefin tuna from Cape Cod and fresh clams and mussels. Uncle D rolled out venison backstraps the next night from a trophy buck he took on state land back in muzzleloader season. It was paired well with delicious morels and black trumpets that he picked last spring, dehydrated, and saved for this very moment. Both nights also featured a charcuterie and cheese board and bourbon selection (thanks Tommy) that seemed to reach a new level this year.

The trip falling on Easter weekend threw us a bit of a curveball. We cut things short by a night so we could spend the holiday with our families. That turned a weekend that is typically light on fishing even lighter, but at least the spot where we did wet a line was new water for three of the four in our group. My uncle was the only one who had fished there before and it was fitting that he caught the lone trout of the trip to remind us what a holdover looked like.

We hung around well into Saturday afternoon with a slow breakdown of camp, partly to savor the moment and partly hoping our wet gear would dry out a little. Despite the rain, one less night, and an onslaught of ticks (four surgeries were performed via hemostat), it was another awesome opening day celebration. Regardless of what Mother Nature throws at us, we’ll be going back every third weekend in April. After all, we’re outdoorsmen.

A little hardwood for the fire.

Flowers for our hosts.

Camp life.

The important food groups.

Fire-cooked paella.

Connecticut-grown venison and shrooms on cast iron.

Best breakfast sandwich I've ever had.

The core.

Uncle D showing us he's still got it.

Ready for the rain (photo credit Aaron Swanson).

It finally came in buckets.

Farewell franks. Until next year...

A Young Man's Job

Instead of fishing this weekend I took care of things on the home front, recovered from a cold and visited with family. One of the highlights was catching up with my uncle. Our annual camping weekend is coming up for the traditional opener of trout fishing season, so timing was perfect. He stopped over my parent's house, the same house he grew up in, to do some tree work in the backyard. There was a giant swamp maple that he planted as a boy with a widow-maker branch hanging since Tropical Storm Irene last August. With spurs on his boots, clips on his belt and some rope, he scaled 60 feet up the tree and went to work while fellow family members stared on with kinks in our necks. My uncle said it was a young man's job, but he owned it. When the chainsaw finally cut through the branch and it fell to the ground, the weight of it pushed four bricks on the patio a foot into the ground. So needless to say it will be nice to have a beer out back this summer without worrying about a several hundred pound tree limb hovering over us. When the maple is seasoned next year, we'll have great fuel for the wood stove too.

Even though he doesn't get on the water as much as he used to, my can s uncle till wield a fly rod just as good as chainsaw. I have him to thank for introducing me to our annual Opening Day camping tradition nearly 20 years ago. For the first few trips I didn't catch a single trout, yet I looked forward to it all year long like I still do today. It was then and is now more about getting away from the everyday grind and spending time with friends than catching fish anyway-- the stories around the camp-fire, the laughs, enjoying fresh clams, etc.

It's my hope that Uncle D has another Opening Day weekend like last year when he stuck two awesome brown trout on the Farmington River. The fishing forecast looks positive for this year as long we don't get the deluge of rain that is bound to come sooner or later. The mild winter we just experienced has everything in nature a few weeks ahead of schedule, including insect hatches on our rivers and streams. There is a strong chance that we could be smack in the middle of the famed Hendrickson hatch during our camping trip.  Wouldn't that be nice?