It’s too high, too cold and too early. These are the phrases that often define an unproductive day of Maine fly fishing in April. Despite whatever Mother Nature dishes out on any given April one thing is for sure, I’ll be fishing. My first few trips of the year often involve a lot of driving from place to place checking out changes in favourite rivers, lakes and ponds, knocking the dust off of my cast and generally ending with no decent fish and the notion that “it’s just good to get out on the water again.” This year winter threw a couple tough blows at Maine well into April and it was beginning to seem like the water temp would never rise above 37 degrees. I tried to remain patient through winter’s last cold gasps, and reluctantly returned to tying flies and waiting out the storm. I always find it funny to hear people speak of weather in passing conversation, comparing this year to that year, or speculating what the weather will do, and when. To a fisherman a fair day, isn’t necessarily a good day, and often times a miserable day is something to savour. These thoughts further solidify my belief that many folks alive today have completely lost any sense of connection to the natural world that constantly changes all around them. Those folks who do have their finger on the pulse of these natural rhythms and who observe and take note of these subtle day to day changes can fully understand the importance of timing. One such instance recently took place. A morning call came through from Jeremy, “been awhile since we fly fished together.” We decided to fish late morning and by 9 am we were on the road in pursuit of fish. We shared stories and jokes back and forth catching up and filling in the gaps of what life has and hasn’t been recently. Our combined lack of results in some usual favourite locations led us to point the vehicle in a new direction yet still seeking the silver Landlocked Salmon of spring. It was good to hear some new stories of far away fishing from his southern and western travels, and I began to sense that maybe it wouldn’t be long for things to turn on here. The day was panning out to be pretty laid back and at one point I almost forgot that we were even going fishing, until the vehicle came to a stop and we began to string up the rods and slip on dry waders. Approaching vast new water is always somewhat of a daunting task, leaving more questions raised than answered. We spoke of new fly patterns and shook heads in disbelief that flies this good looking could be ignored by anything that swims. After a few non-productive hours of beating the new water to death we agreed that one more shot at a new spot would round out the day. I reached in my box to change up my fly when I saw Jeremy’s 5 weight doubled over and pulsing, as whatever was on the other end shook its head to throw his fly. We landed some beautiful fish including some of our best salmon to date and our biggest ever lake trout on flies, in a short amount of time. As quickly as it happened, so did it end. Amazed by the fish we had caught we returned multiple days to this new found spot only to walk away empty handed. Sometimes moments come and go and cannot be recaptured. This was one of those days.