With a size 26 fly stuck into my wool/latex hybrid glove and my father's dog slowly being erased by the corn snow - I couldn't help but laugh. I love midge fishing. I love how the tiny bugs crawl out of the water and how the fish enjoy eating them, with sometimes outrageous fanfare. In the company of many layers, hand-warmers, apple cider and whiskey, the afternoon of terrible weather was absolutely lovely. Midge fishing seems to be the payment for any good day of fishing I had during the summer. Any wild eats seem to be tallied and reworked into hours of frozen toes, and missed fish. It is the law of averages, and it is debt I gladly stand waist deep in, watching the eagles and waiting for the deer, being ignored by trout.

After the foam and the caddis- the size 30 midge represent something more mysterious and illusive. Maybe it is the contrast between the snow and the river, the midge and the snow that invites peace. You aren't supposed to catch fish on 7x and size 30s but sometimes we do, or better yet -- sometimes we watched the fish rise willingly, and we remained stunned motionless on the bank, half frozen-half amazed that such a miraculous thing exists...