I doesn't matter how many years have passed, I still get as excited as a kid on Christmas Eve when the lowland lake opener rolls around. In Okanogan County, we didn't have March 1st openers or year around waters. You had two choices. 1.) Dunk bait through the ice in January or 2.) Wait till the last weekend in April. My father, being an honorable man and dedicated fly fisher, suffered in silence till the April opener. We would begin to talk about the new season in early April. Never March or February as some did, for the wait was just too long to endure for a young fisherman like myself. My father thought of fishing year around much like I do today. He passed the long winter hours at his vice tying our fly's for the Spring. Soon he was into our Summer drys, and if the Winter was long enough, he would be into his Steelhead fly's by March. Many of you will remember that the DFW used to open the season on Sunday morning in an effort to reduce the pounding the fish populations would endure on opening day. We would head up to our mountain cabin in Conconully on Friday night and try to pretend that we didn't notice the lake boiling with rising fish as the sun set. By morning we were like two caged animals. Some years it got so bad that Mom sent us to Aeneas early so we could visit with Dad's fly fishing club buddies and kill some time. At least we would drive them crazy and not her. That time spent around the campfire with many of the founding fisherman of the Okanogan Fly Fishing Club was pretty special, even for a young boy who was only concerned about when it was time to eat again. Sunday morning, Dad would shake me awake before it was light. It was always so cold that I wanted the heater on in the truck. He could never figure out why anybody would want a heater on in late April but then he endured winter in the Italian Alps during WWII. Guess that changes your perspective on what cold really is. We would grab a quick bite and make a mad dash for the lake. Dad always had the gear loaded in the truck the night before so we were out of the house in minutes. Our goal was always to be one of the first 5 boats on the lake and we usually were one of the first three. I don't recall ever actually being able to feel my fingers till the sun actually hit the water for an hour or two but I somehow learned how to battle big rainbows despite the numbness. All good things come to an end and Dad passed on in 1985. However, special moments have a way of recreating themselves but from a different perspective. Tomorrow I will load up the truck and meet my son as school lets out for the drive up to Aeneas. This will be his first opening day outing with his Dad and I am sure his fingers will go numb too. Hopefull the fish will remain as big in his memories as the monsters my Dad and I caught 25 years ago do in mine. Good luck this weekend everyone! Mike Wilson Spangle
