Clouds, sullen and grey, draped the mountains, and a cold wind blew upstream, carrying with it a few flakes of snow and the scent of more to come. The kind of morning made for lingering in bed, rather than standing at the put in questioning your clients’ sanity and cursing your own impoverishment in equal measure. Yet something in the air also held the promise of dry flies in the afternoon for those who persevered, and so it was to prove.
Satellite imaging tells us the Arkansas River historically flowed south into the Rio Grande before the uplift that created the Sangres diverted it east to the Mississippi at Big Bend. And this day, as the river turned there, so too did the weather, with the clouds lifting and the wind abating and losing much of its bite.
Woody Allen once opined that success in life is 80% just turning up, and so too it is with fishing. Get out there often enough, stay out there long enough, float enough miles, and sooner or later you’re bound to come across fish with their mouths open. The closer we floated to town, the more blue wings began to hatch to the surface, and the more fish began to rise to them. We were treated to a good three hours of dry fly action, before the clouds rolled in again, the temperature dropped and things shut down. All in all, not bad for a boat load of April fools.