Landing at my favorite little Mt. Hood lake about 8:00 proved a surprise. Very few people around. The gate to the little parking lot was still open but the day use area bulletin board with fee envelopes was gone. Winter is approaching. Over the course of the day, the temperature rose about 20 degrees. From better put on a fleece to time to take off another layer. The chill vanished about 11:00 and a pair of canoes hit the water. Just three watercraft until a family of kayakers appeared about noon.
Over all a lovely day. Beautiful rainbow trout, the resident osprey, and a fresh coat of snow on the Mountain.
Sometimes I think the best thing about fly fishing from a float tube is the solitary time. The luxury to sit and think can be the most valuable thing about an outing of this kind. So, between changing how I rig my flies, maneuvering to another part of the lake, and just taking in the sounds and sights, I think. Sometimes I give the line a tug or two and the movement attracts a trout. Occasionally a thought worth keeping settles in.
I thought of Jimmy Chan, a student I once had in a senior class. He only spoke English during the school day because he lived in San Francisco's Chinatown and spoke with family and community members solely the rest of the time. But Jimmy's limited English never got in the way of his natural curiosity. His older brother was a math genius and enjoyed more recognition from students and faculty. But Jimmy was somehow more personable. "I was wonder..." he would often ask, dropping the ing on wondering. "I was wonder, is there a word that best describes how food tastes?" His questions would come in a constant stream. He was always engaged, whatever the topic. It was such an appropriate interruption, "I was wonder" because that's exactly what Jimmy was; he was wonder.
Just then a fragile wisp if spider web floats by and I wonder how it gets onto the middle of a lake. It must break off in a gust of wind. Wonder if it just falls in somewhere or makes landfall and continues as before. Wonder if it has a passenger. It's here and then gone. Like a Haiku, it forms in my mind:
In the middle of an icy lake
Spider webs hover
Attached to noting.
A poem, caught and released.