Frozen adoration...

For reasons that are beyond my comprehension, there are a small, semi-eccentric group of anglers who consider winter steelheading to be the ultimate expression of masculinity, to the extent that one's virility or even citizenship could be called into question based on their inclination (or disinclination) to spend hours waist deep in cold, clear water; braving bone-chilling sub-zero wind chills, white out lake-effect snow squalls, and rivers choked with ice and slush. If timed improperly, a winter jaunt can devolve into a frigid day of isolation, a futile exercise of casting to fish that are not there. By the same token, a warm rain, or a few hours of sun can provide a catalyst for a flurry of fish activity, as a slight rise in water temperature may turn on the bite. From a sheerly statistical perspective, winter steelheading should be a productive undertaking, as 60% of spring spawning steelhead reside in the pools and runs of Great Lakes tributaries when the ground is covered in snow. If I can ignore the fact that my feet feel like palettes of frozen hamburger, turn a blind eye to the stinging burn of cold on my fingertips, I look forward to my next trip to the river, this Saturday.

** The captioned photo was taken today by my friend Erick on 'XXX' Creek, one of many fish landed and released.