Waders half empty  

By JEFF LUND

January 25, 2020
Saturday PM

(SitNews) Ketchikan, Alaska - Maybe I’m the only one who felt it, but maybe I’m not. When the rains came and cleansed the streets of dirty ice, my soul rejoiced for spring cometh. Well it will, eventually. It’s not that I felt like spring was eminent, but it is inevitable and I couldn’t help feel the optimism that comes with a day that feels more like late February than late January. Because after February is March then comes April then comes May. Then come the tourists, but it’s hard to beat March, April and May around here. Warmer rain (not warm Arizona monsoon rain, just less cold rain), more daylight hours for the warmer rain, symbolism about rebirth and life and all that stuff. It’s awesome, and to get a little taste of it in January isn’t ridiculous. 

The thing is I grew up around here, so I know better than to think we have winter kicked. At the same time though, it’s not just knowing better, it’s also understanding and appreciating that going from clear, cold and beautiful (unless you’re driving) to dark and rainy isn’t a step back, it’s just what happens around here. You don’t just hit pause until things are nice and convenient. It you wanted that, you’d live in California and pretend you didn’t mind the traffic.

You find out that yeah, you can be an optimist and that there are positive ways to combat the real S.A.D. and sometimes discover that what you thought was S.A.D. may have just been you spending too much time on Twitter and Netflix. 

My buddy Derek was out running with his dog on Saturday. I waived, but he couldn’t see me through the southeast squint – you know, when you have to keep your eyes open to see where you’re going, but can’t afford to open them too far since wind-assisted rain sometimes feels like it could push your eye ball into your brain. 

I didn’t feel guilty that he was exercising and I was driving because I was up and at the river before the sun, trying to trick a steelhead with feathers and yarn tied on a hook. It didn’t work, but I did manage to slip and slide into the water at an angle so that the water level was above my waders, but I didn’t get wet. 

My buddy Nate who I used to wade California rivers with would always remark, “Superior athleticism” whenever one of us fell but not in catastrophic fashion, as if to say that a lesser angler would have been soaked. However, a better angler probably wouldn’t have slipped in the first place. 

But Nate and I are waders-half-empty type guys which is a good thing if you read it slowly. 

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