Bye!

[mvdaog]

So after living in Calgary for 8 years getting my BSc and now my MD, I am finally moving back home to BC. Ive never settled into Alberta as a home and was always waiting for the day to leave the province that I was at odds with so often over these 8 years. But holy crap, the Bow has been good to me and its a river I got know pretty well over these years. And even though I always told everyone I'd never go back to Calgary once I left it, I have a suspicion that the Bow will bring me back now and then.... it will be strange not having this forum to look at everyday anymore, but Ill have to train myself to ignore it. I was a member since the early days when it was at the old address, and it's just weird that Im going to delete the bookmark after all these years! I dont even know the point of this post, but I think it's just because in some weird technology infiltrated way this forum is a sort of symbol of my life in Calgary and me closing that chapter for good.

 

Don't let them ruin this river! I want to be able to fish it again, and I don't want it to change too much. Its a special river for fly fishing... peace!

 

He slowly and carefully waded out a few feet into the river, downstream of the fish but within casting distance of the rising trout. The calm, slick water he was fishing made it crucial to step lightly and slowly, to minimize the vibrations sent the trout's way. Any sort of disturbance would crush all hopes this trout stalker carried. Once properly positioned, he waited another minute or so to see another rise, just to make sure he knew where to cast and to make certain the trout had not noticed his entry. Again he saw the fish rise in the same manner and same seam of current as moments earlier. As his line danced back and forth, the beautiful loops he made in the air resembled the elegant strokes of an artist's brush, the backdrop of his art a deep red setting sun and a bank full of long yellow grass, the majestic trees scattered among joyous birds in flight. With one last fluid movement he let his line fly, and the blue winged olive landed two feet upstream of the last rise, in exactly the spot he imagined placing it. It slowly made its way downriver, perfectly in line with the trout's window of vision. Inching closer, he knew at any minute it would pass through that magical spot, the point in which he would either see a rise or not. He froze. No movement, no heart beat, no breath. The tiny speck of white on top of the water was his only focus. Each fraction of time, while realistically no longer than the last, became slower and slower as the fly crept towards the spot. Then, all the sudden, his fly disappeared, and a fraction of the smallest moment of time he realized the reason for this was a trout's mouth sucking it down. A bite… without actually acknowledging any of this occurring consciously, he set the hook. He lifted his arm backwards and the tip of his rod up, spraying a seam of water off his line as it was lifted off the surface. This all lasted but a second, or maybe two. Then it was over. '*hit!' The word of choice, which, surprisingly, he didn't yell but whispered when he realized he was a nanosecond too slow.

[reevesr1]

Good luck in BC! No reason to fully drop out of the forum, the internet knows no boundaries.

[toolman]

Congrats on the completion of your MD. All the best for the future.

Good Luck and good fishing!

Greg