You’ve got to love Maine fly fishing in December. The rivers are not crowded, the fish can be plentiful, and if you’re careful, you might live to see the next season.

I’ve developed a few habits of convenience to make frigid fishing a little more pleasant, including getting geared up in the comforts of the living room so I can go straight from truck to streamside. One particular morning I got my waders on and couldn’t find my boots, until I remembered that I had left them in the truck from the previous trip. Having been left there wet as, well…a fish, they were frozen solid. I could have hammered nails with them, and the laces were as stiff as dried spaghetti left on a plate overnight–No worries, they are wading shoes after all, not driving shoes, so I thawed them on the drive with the floor heater on full. You know, with just stocking feet, the gas and the brake pedals are much more sensitive – I think it improved my driving. I know one cop that does not agree. One drawback -with the smell of hot neoprene booties there was no need for morning coffee! I will tell you this, though, not only were the boots thawed after the ½ hour drive, but man, were my toes toasty on that cold walk to the river (for a few minutes, anyway.)

The fishing that morning was fairly slow, but I still stayed until the last minute, and beyond – as it should be. Since I was late, I drove home in my wet boots and went straight inside to the cellar this time (don’t have to hit me in the side of the head twice with a tire iron.) Let me revise that. First I managed to walk OVER some new fallen snow (the kind that sticks to felt soles) THEN to the cellar stairs. The wood cellar stairs. The SMOOTH wood cellar stairs. The ones I keep meaning to nail carpet strips to.

To say that I was airborne from top to bottom would actually be an exaggeration; I did bounce once – right on the fore of my casting arm. Rushing down the stairs, thinking she was now a widow, my wife knew I had not hit my head and anything that broke would heal when she heard the second set of words moaning from my mouth: “Good thing I wasn’t carrying my rod.”

“Yeah, god forbid…” she replied.

Some things you only do once, either by choice or by death. This year I have new boots with studded soles so I know that it won’t happen again; my wife would never let me live to see the cellar door if she caught me walking on the living room floor to get there.