I’ve often wondered if the doctor scrapped a fish scale or two off me when I was born?

Could it be a sign that my birth date, February 22nd, has the astrological sign Pisces, two fish, also be significant? The two fish symbol’s part of Greek mythology where Aphrodite and Eros transformed into fish in order to escape from the monster Typhon. Pisces is also Latin for fishes and a constellation grouping of stars shaped like two fish as well as a taxonomic group which includes fish.

Pisces are known to be imaginative, creative, compassionate and empathetic as well as being in tune with the emotions of others. Hmm…. I’m a fish taxidermist, photographer, write prose and poetry, draw, paint and do sense, feel and identify closely with the feelings of others as well as being highly spiritual.

So, it’s safe to say that maybe, just maybe, the first day of trout season has special meaning to me.

When the cardinals begin singing in late March, the days grow longer and the sun’s intensity changes, ducks and geese migrate north, trees begin to bud, crocus bloom and my hand thirsts for the feel of my UL fishing rod. The days preceding that blessed opener are filled with a growing anticipation and the wonder, yes, the wonder that never grows old for me, of the almost miracle of rod, reel, hook and line plucking a gorgeous trout from the unseen depths. It just doesn’t seem possible to me even after all these years.

Perhaps even sweeter to me are the first day traditions. I taught Dave Ling Sr. to fish when he was 16, then his son Dave Jr. and now assist Dave Jr’s. son Gunner. Tradition demands driving to Randolph Friday evening, eating dinner, checking the streams before dark and planning where to begin when daylight streaks the Eastern sky. New lures are shown, maybe a new fishing pole or reel, vests double checked for essentials and a certain amount of teasing and joking around. For 40 years this wonderful experience has taken place, a foundation in my life. Something to build on, a security born of shared experience, love of the sport and a deep understanding and trust between individuals who stood side by side in snow, rain, freezing temperature and high water.

Who have had hands so cold, stiff and painful it seems foolish to remain on the stream. When it requires 10 minutes to finally tie a hook on with your frozen, stiff, clumsy fingers or your buddy has to do it for you. When your guides ice up and you stop, wondering why in the world, you’re doing this to yourself. We’ve netted countless trout for each other and vicariously shared that bursting joy that floods any fisherman’s soul when a beautiful trout is landed, especially when it’s a “big one”! Who’ve shared hooks, line, sinkers, lures and, especially, plastic bags for the trout. I seem to be the only one who remembers bread bags and carries extras.

It seems impossible trout have such a hold, engender such a powerful drive in often brutal conditions but they do.

Perhaps they’ve become more than a love, grown into a symbol of life’s quest, of persevering, a shared goal, friendship, rewarding us with a joy that transcends that beautifully marked creature previously invisible and elusive in springs rushing, laughing, icy torrents. But it is thankfully so and I marvel at the happiness it’s brought us.

As I pulled into the driveway Dave Jr and his wife Kelly greeted me, all smiles just like old times and my heart warmed spontaneously. Daughter Kendra is 16, tall, slender and on the track team.

Was this the former little girl I always threatened to steal her security blanket from? Gunner was 10.

That kid never stopped smiling and was ready to fish. This year dinner was hamburgers on the grill with a mac and cheese side. Afterward we hopped in the truck and scoped things out. The streams were high and slightly discolored but easily fishable.

6 a.m. came early and by 6:30 we were on the stream. The thermometer hovered at 27 degrees and I was glad to be wearing long johns, my vest, heavy coat and furry hat with fold down ear flaps.

I was just warm enough, if I ignored my hands.

Dave stuck first with a hefty 12” brown but things were a bit slow, I tossed back some smaller browns. Leaving the spot to Dave, Dave and Gunner I headed downstream. A nicer rainbow and then a 16” brown.

Nice. By eight we were ready for hot chocolate, delicious. Another section of water. Slow at first but switching to a spoon I had a hard hit and landed a chunky, fat brown.

The Gunner landed a nice brown himself. By now we all had our limits of five; two trout over 12” and three under. We stood talking, reliving the mornings fishing, feeling the quiet satisfaction of a great day on the stream.

At noon we hit a local restaurant and enjoyed a warm lunch out of the cold, cutting breeze.

Simply having clean, warm hands was exquisite. Such simple pleasures are not appreciated until you’ve frozen them near solid.

Driving home there was no doubt in my mind I was one indeed 1 of the richest men on earth.

Wade Robertson