Narincheon

It’s hard waking up early. It’s even harder to wake up early in the winter time… unless I am planned to go fishing. It was 5am, still almost hour and a half away from any day light, but I was up, geared up in my waders, and lacing my boots. I checked the headlamp to make sure I had enough juice to last me till the sun came up. As I walked out into the cool morning air, a country dog greeted me. I can hear the stream in the distance, and I stared up into the night sky, hoping to find any sign of light, even moonlight. This was my mini break away from the busy week that’s kept my mind running at full throttle. I knew my friends would not be up till another 30 minutes, so I decided to take a walk down to the stream. It would be too dark to fish, but I couldn’t wait to get my feet wet. Perhaps there will be a larger trout, that wanted to take the last fly of his evening meal.



I carefully hiked down the bushy hill near the lodge we were staying at. I can see the glitter of the stream in the little light that was present, I can hear the water close to me feet. I stood there for a few minutes, just taking in the early morning, think about the day that was ahead. I turned off the headlamp, and soon the stretch of the stream became visible as my eyes adjusted to darkness. I unhooked my line, and threw a few casts into the darkness. The strike indicator on the line was faintly visible, drifting in the shallow stream. Daybreak and I can hear my friends getting ready near the car. We drove a short distance up the mountain, to a spot my friend had in mind. As we drove up, we can see a car with two people in it, and instinctively we knew they were fishermen. As we unloaded, one the guys stepped out and greeted us with a kind “an-nyung-ha-seyo”. I asked if he was waiting to fish, and all he said was “fly fish” in English. To our surprise these were two American guys, waiting to fly fish here. They’ve been fishing this stream for three weeks, making some good catches. They were kind enough to share with us what flies were working, and to alert us of snakes (vipers) in the area. They asked if we were going to fish up stream or down, and let us take first pick as they knew I was here only for the day. We hiked up the rocky banks of the stream for about 30minutes, just until the car and houses were out of sight. Manchurian trout were in season, and I fished a nymph with a football indicator. I few smaller chubs here and there. The three of us split up an hour into fishing, and didn’t meet up till lunch time. I have always like fishing alone, there is a sense of intensity and focus that comes with it. There is also less pressure to show off the fish that is caught, so I can enjoy the catch completely. We regrouped for lunch, and had some homemade tofu meal at the lodge we were staying at. We were moving to another spot in the afternoon. I was a little more relaxed in the afternoon, spending time to watch my friends make long casts, and to discuss holding spots. It drizzled all day, and the cold was starting to bite into our bones. I climbed on some huge rocks, casting 10-15 feet below into rapid waters. I wasn’t sure what I would do if I actually hooked a fish at that distance, but I guess it was an OK plan to figure that out when I got to that situation. My friend caught a small trout, and the rest of us only met a lot of creek chubs. My friend called these the bluegills of Korea, and I knew exactly what he meant. Like the seasons, people and situations continue to change. Sometimes you get on that same drift, sometime you don’t. I am perfectly fine not catching fish sometimes, although I tend to say that only when I don’t catch good fish. I stood there in the late afternoon and wondered about the road I’ve travelled in the past year, and the road that lays ahead of me. I like what I see, and I can see as far as I should be seeing. Like standing there in the dark, sometimes what you can’t see can be as comforting as what one can see. Till the next time.