It's not always easy to find the time to get on the water. However, when I manage to get out, I'm reminded of the immense sense of peace and rejuvenation it brings me.

During this summer vacation, amidst a somewhat turbulent morning filled with family misadventures, my fishing plans were starting to fall apart. I admit I was a bit exhausted, struggling to muster the enthusiasm required to assemble my gear and make the trek to the river. I was already hours behind my planned departure time. But with a gentle nudge from my wife (she truly is the best), I shook off my lethargy and made my way to the riverbank.

As I drew closer to the water's edge, a sense of tranquility began to wash over me. I told myself "I can't believe I almost passed this up!". I put on my waders, walked into the river, feeling the cool current course through my feet, and took a deep breath. Instantly, my disposition improved, all before I'd even tied a fly to my line.

I stood there, clutching my fly wallet, its weathered leather bearing the marks of countless hours spent along riverbanks. Like a time capsule, it transported me back to an era when anglers roamed these waters with bamboo fly rods and meticulously hand-tied flies. A profound sense of nostalgia swept over me, connecting me to those who had come before.

I finally cast my line out, my initial attempts resembled the grace of a tipsy seagull more than a seasoned angler. I'll admit, I was a tad rusty. Eventually, I found my rhythm and honed my casting skills. While many had recommended various nymph patterns, I must confess that nymphing is not my forte. It simply isn't my go-to approach. After some contemplation, I decided to trust my instincts and opted for a classic choice – the muddler. It took only one cast before I watched a brook trout dart out from beneath a submerged rock and strike my fly. What an exhilarating moment! It might not have been the largest catch, but I was ecstatic.


As the day drew to a close, I found a quiet spot by the water's edge. There, I delicately removed my fly, stowed away my rod, and settled in with a beer and a cigar. Suddenly, I realized that the earlier misadventures and daily concerns had vanished entirely. It was a realization I'd experienced countless times before, yet it never ceased to amaze me how the river had this remarkable ability to cast aside worries and replace them with pure bliss.

In the fading light, as the ember of my cigar glowed, a profound sense of gratitude enveloped me. I was grateful for the rivers, the trout, and the rich history that had led me to this moment. Fly fishing isn't just about the catch; it's about the journey and an enduring appreciation for the beauty of the world that surrounded us.

David-Alexandre Chabot - Owner

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