Fishing season opens early this year

Until just recently, I have thought of Connecticut Gov. Ned Lamont as a bit of a squirt. But his decision to open the inland fishing season last week (instead of waiting for the scheduled opening day on April 11) has changed my mind completely. Historians will rank him with Alexander the Great, Charlemagne and Winston Churchill as Decisive Leaders.

Anglers tend to brood about fishing during the long winter. The two weeks before opening day are the worst.

By opening early, the pent-up goofiness of the angling community, exponentially exacerbated by the COVID-19 situation, will be spread out over a two-week period and allowed to dissipate harmlessly. The last thing we need is a bunch of fishermen and fisherwomen wolfing down pancake breakfasts and infecting each other on the official opening day.

So I went over to the Blackberry River at Beckley Furnace in North Canaan on Thursday, March 26, to wet a line.

It was the first really spring-like day so far, and I was a little surprised to have it to myself at 10:30 a.m. I made my way to the big pool under the big dam, launched a size 12 Bread and Butter nymph (tied on a jig hook and with a tungsten head) and connected with a brightly colored rainbow trout on the first cast.

Oh no, I thought. Could this be the dreaded Curse of the First Cast? Will I now spend the next two hours fruitlessly flogging the water?

Negatory. The hits kept coming. And coming.

It was one of those days when the only thing that can go wrong is to hook a big fat rainbow with a dinky little rod unsuited to the task.

Which is what happened. See, there’s this big rectangular rock, and fish hang out under it but the only way to fish the spot is from behind the big rectangular rock and …

Never mind. I hooked it, played it for about three seconds, and it then shook off the barbless hook and disappeared. The last I saw of it was when it waved its whale-like tail at me, in a derisive manner.

You might suspect me of anthropomorphism here, but I’ve been fly-fishing for 46 years. I know an insult when I see one, and this fish was letting me know who was boss.

The other interesting thing was that there was a caddis hatch coming off, with adults fluttering around and struggling in the water. The fish ignored them completely. (Must have skipped that class at the trout hatchery.)

I went back on Friday for a couple more hours. They weren’t as excited about the nymph, so I tied on a big black conehead Wooly Bugger with rubber legs. (I also used a longer and heavier rod.)

Well, that big ol’ rainbow charged out from under the big rectangular rock and smacked the streamer. And this time I was prepared.

After a bit of a tussle, I got him to the bank and took a hasty photo, next to my boot for comparison. Then I got the fish back into the current and he dove into the depths. No sassy tail action this time, either. This was a humbled fish.

I’d prefer not to report what I did next, but it needs to be said. I climbed on top of the big rectangular rock and sang, “I am the champion, I am the chaaaampion …”

Then I noticed a couple of spincasters, one of whom was clearly dialing the mental health authorities on his cell phone. I cheesed the musical interlude and slithered off downstream.

Who knows what sort of bizarre display I would have made if fishing season hadn’t started early?

Now that the gov has entered my personal pantheon of heroes, I have a suggestion. For his next amazing feat, he should fix the Department of Motor Vehicles.

He pulls that off, he can be governor as long as he wants.

In the meantime, it is hard to overemphasize the wisdom of the early opening. It allowed me, for six hours spread over two days anyway, to feel normal.

And in this supremely abnormal time, that is a blessing.

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