126 ~ For the love of rain
Whenever I hear something along the lines of "What a lousy day, all this rain”, I feel my dissent rising. Clearly, words of neither a gardener nor a trout fisher! And more generally, what would the world be without rain? Rain has to fall sometime, or so we hope, and so why not today?
The approach of a spring rain, as yesterday, often puts me to a choice of either plant in the garden, or go trout fishing (if time permits either!). Yesterday, knowing the forecast, I got up early enough for both. A spring rain to a gardener and trout fisherman is like Christmas morning to a kid: it erases any notion of laziness or wish to sleep in. It's time to move, to get out of bed and see what gifts the rain and the rain-drenched Earth have to offer.
Something I've learned from my years of vegetable gardening is that while ground water from a hose or sprinkler will keep plants alive, they don't thrive on it. Minimal life support only. In contrast, after a good rain the plants burst forth. Botanical exuberance, as if high on rainwater. I'm not sure of the reason; perhaps rain is simply less of a shock than cold groundwater; or perhaps it's because rain soaks everywhere, evenly - none of the dry (or dryish) spots that a sprinkler inevitably leaves. Come to ponder on it, which would most of us humans prefer - to brace ourselves under an icy shower, or stand naked in a spring or summer rain? Indeed, plants are our brothers and sisters.
Trout also love rain. It turns them on like a switch. I can catch two, three or four times as many trout from a stream under rain as from the same water on a clear day. Anglers have proposed various explanations for this phenomenon, and any or all could be part of the truth. Two strike me as most likely, from my years of chasing and watching trout. First, trout are hyper-sensitive to the risk of death from above, such as dispensed by herons, kingfishers, bald eagles and ospreys. With rain, the splattering of drops on the water's surface veils all below, and trout know it's their chance to forage unseen and almost risk-free. And they go at it. "Buffet open! As long as the rain lasts!". This is probably the main reason trout nosh in the rain like potheads at a donut shop. Also, they may have learned that runoff from a heavy rain can silt up a stream for a day or two - "chocolate milk" anglers call it. This significantly reduces visibility in the water and thus a trout's ability to detect food. Better feed up in advance.
Trout and I are not so different, then - rain also gets me thinking about food, especially in spring. And so yesterday morning, upon verifying the approach of wet weather on the forecast radar, after a spell at the writing desk I planted starts of cucumbers and some extra cauliflower seedlings, and seeds of yellow wax beans, green beans and more cukes. Then it was off to the stream.
I rigged up under skies still dry but darkening with promise. In about an hour of wading slowly upstream- slow patience for the rain - I managed to find a couple of trout. And when the rain finally arrived, the fishing turned immediately glorious. That flipped switch. In this clip from yesterday, only about five minutes after the rain started, you can see four strikes from trout in quick succession, all within a minute or so (although I managed to land only one of these; note that some of my running monologue describes the lightweight, Japanese-style fly fishing gear I'm using, known as tenkara).
It seems the Impressionists didn’t invent pointilism - in the video I love the sight of new rain meeting the old. And the sound, a steady tap-tap-tap of life being renewed.
Manna sometimes does indeed fall from heaven, and in spring it falls for me in liquid form. The rain loves my gardens and the trout, and feeds them both, and they in turn feed me. And for this my gratitude reaches back to the rain.
Don't be surprised if we should cross paths sometime under heavy skies and I remark, "Wow, what a beautiful, rainy day". In spring and summer, it's the best weather I know.
The weather today is good for something, somewhere. - Bird
Magnificent wild Wisconsin brook trout; a rain trout.
Meet my kind friends, breakfast, lunch and dinner.
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