The clock on the microwave displayed the following time: 01:30AM.
As I stood in the entrance way, I rubbed my eyes and squinted at the dark kitchen before me, and told myself, this was all going to be worth it. Trying to fall back asleep now was literally impossible. I had already spent nearly 4 hours failing at the job. As it happens so often before embarking on these fly fishing adventures, the excitment and anxiousness totally comsume me, making sleep an impossibility. So I declared my intentions to get moving on this cold winter morning by stepping forward.
I stumbled over to the coffee maker and pressed go. As the coffee maker slowly awakened, hissing and crackling, I checked the weather app, now for at least the 100th time in the last 24hrs. Minus 4 degrees Celsius as a low later tonight and a high of only 3 degrees during the day; 100% chance of snow. Any hopes of a last minute weather reversal of the wintery recpetion I hoped I wouldn’t face, faded as the coffee drip picked up tempo. The snowy destination I would arrive at later this morning, minus the upcoming 3 hour drive, was looking very cold. At this point in the year, iced up sections of river were a real possibility – what would we be dealing with when we got there?
With this last thought, I dumped a bunch of cream into my freshly poured mug of coffee, and sat down at the cold-to-the-touch wooden kitchen table. Warmly holding up the steaming coffee with both hands, the heightened vibrations of the refrigerator compressor joined me on this cold November morning with a click. As I sipped this energy-giving elixir, I noticed through the balcony windows it was already snowing outside.
Sitting there in cold dark silence, I suddenly found myself surrounded by lingering ideas of rethinking this whole endeavor. The dangerous and flirtatious urges to cancel the trip were slithering their way somewhere around me. These ideas, lurking in the shadows nearby, were making their presence felt, as they crept closer and closer towards the kitchen, coming from some dark corners of the apartment. I could feel myself being engulfed by these traitor-like siren songs, luring me back to sleep, back to the warm comfort of bed. No sooner had these intruders fully revealed themsleves from the shadows, in full view, in plain sight – right next to me, I slammed my empty coffee mug to the table with a hallow thud and stood up. “Get moving”, I told myself.
After the 4th return trip from the garage back into the house, I had finally managed to get all the gear into the SUV. Sleeping pads, bag, and camp cooking attire. Cold weather gear was spilling over the back seat, with boots, gloves, hats and more. Nestled away in the trunk area was my favorite item of all. My 80 liter fishing bag where all my fishing gear was sorted, waiting, and ready for action. After double and triple checking, I mentally signed off that all gear was accounted for and present. Checking the sleepy gear room one last time, nothing caught my attention expect for the low hum of the desk lamp.
I scooped up my Yeti coffee mug, slapped my coat pocket, hearing the reassuring jingle of my car keys, and pocketed my cell. I switched off the old lamp and closed the main door with a sleepy thud, as I stepped off into the early morning abyss.
The drive was slow and intense, to say the least. Making my way through the rolling hills of Austria, I managed to skirt the edge of the mountainous spine that runs east to west, preventing me from encountering the worst of what the storm had to offer. With my wipers on full throttle, I navigated the snowy darkness. With a limited number of drivers this early in the morning and in such conditions, the feeling of being in the wrong place at the wrong time hung heavy in the car like an unwelcomed back seat driver. Maybe I should have called this trip off after all?
Suddenly the ringtone from my android pierced through the chorus of the blasting HXVRMXN ‘Headlights Flashes’, which was cranked on high as I drifted through the snowy lanes. It was my die-hard, fish-or-die bro from Germany, calling now as I was about 1 hour away from the destination. I picked up and shouted “What’s up bro?”, “Where you at?”. He exclaimed he was already waiting in the parking lot. Navigation details exchanged, shit talking completed, and motivation levels now replenished, I hung up and turned back up the accompanying beats and cruised into the snowy alpine morning. With a fishing companion as dedicated as me, as hard-core as they come – joining me on this idiotic trip: at least the arctic suffering wouldn’t be enjoyed alone.
The SUV door opened and a rush of bone chilling cold air blew past me and settled into the car. I stepped out and planted my feet onto the ground, covered now by several centimeters of crisp, loud, and sparkling snow. As I moved towards the back of the vehicle, I noticed the surrounding hills and trees were all covered in a sparkling blanket of snow. Looking more like powered sugar, than snow, the rising sun was sending glitters and refractions everywhich way. I gleaned off in the distance, the giant Austrian Alps, which stood like giants just a couple miles away, peaking down now through the disapating fog. The only sound heard was the snapping and crackling of my steps in the snow and the rushing river water nearby. This was a good sign.
Standing now fully suited, kitted, and fly rods in hand, we scouted the section of river below us and began planning our advance. The white puffs of steam from our breath rose slightly before being taken away by the cold breeze. We laughed as we both remarked on crazy we must be, to be out here fly fishing, in such conditions. But no one else was attempting such idiotic feats this morning- at least here on this river, so for now we had the place to ourselves.
We stepped off down the bank and into the cold icey flows. A new fog bank was beginning to push over us, and as we wadded further into the frozen river, we slowly disappeared into the mist. With each step further up river, we drew closer to our comfort zones.
