I think that March is the only month of the year that I have not wet a line. Last year, I had the same thought during February, and if you recall, or are not from ‘heah,’ we had a pretty cold one last winter.

Sometimes I go fishing because the day has been planned for weeks, sometimes because a buddy calls up and invites me along, sometimes just because I need to go, and other times because, well…I’m sick and it really wouldn’t be nice to spread germs at the office. As February 2004 drew to a close, I realized I had to fish because I could. The day was warm – relatively speaking, the skies were as clear as my schedule, and well, there was that realization that February needed to be checked off the list.

As I pulled into the empty parking lot I was even more sure of my decision – solitude! The gin-clear water contrasting with the white banks and black, leafless branches felt as at home to me as the sounds of black flies and the call: “fish on!” from a fellow angler in the height of the season. I caught no fish that day, perhaps because I did not really expect to, and I remarked to myself that I have never, ever had a trip where I regretted the decision to go.

The day was February 29, the river welcomed me back, and I had a great, soul-charging, cabin-fever relieving day. Not only did I fish February because I could, but I fished THAT day because I couldn’t for another four years. Speaking of four, isn’t that the number of days left in this month? Gotta Go!

Mike—–~ >`)}}}><