An Hour In The Morning

When I was boy growing up in northwest Pennsylvania, my Dad used to have a saying about the comparative merits of different times of day for angling success. He’d tell my brother and me: “An hour in the morning is worth two at night”. At the time, I thought the sole merit of fishing early as opposed to late was that once the fishing was done, we would have time for all the usual weekend yard chores like pruning apple trees, mowing lawn and painting fences. I didn’t find this all that compelling to be truthful. Not to mention that rolling out to a buzzing alarm at 4:30AM was a lot more difficult for a sleepy, growing kid than say, already being awake for 10 hours or so and then going fishing in the evening.

But, a lifetime of fishing and related observation has convinced me of the truth of my Father’s maxim. While there are times that for one reason or another, like during major insect hatches or weather changes, that the best fishing was in the evening, time and time again I’ve learned that an hour in the morning is indeed worth two at night.

There are practical reasons for this to be true. In the heat of high summer when high water temperatures can make fish sluggish and tight-lipped, the water is almost always at its coolest at dawn. . In the evenings, while the temperatures may be down a bit from their daily peak, they still carry most of the impact of the heating of the day. On water that sees a fair bit of angling traffic with the attendant depressing effect all the banging and clattering of other fisherman can have on the fishing, you know that when you’re on the stream at the crack of dawn, you’re casting over fish that haven’t been bothered for a few hours at least.

But the main reason I believe an hour in the morning is worth two at night is the nature of early morning and first light itself. Dawn is by its nature a slow but steady unveiling. Morning mist surrounds you as you first step into the flow. In the dim light, the mist shrouds and occludes the far bank of the stream. You are alone in it with your thoughts, the fresh coolness of the air, the river and the fish. Gradually, the veil lifts and the world around you becomes more focused, sharper. The dark shape on the far bank becomes a sturdy tree; the pale stripes of lighter hue upstream become the tongues of the current as it glides around the sides of a small island. The world of the river comes to life before your eyes, a curtain slowly lifted in welcome, as if it is all happening just for you.

And in the cool of the runs and pools, below the surface of the moving sheet of water shrouded in the dissolving mist, the fish are renewed after their overnight respite and are coming to life and are on the hunt. They veer through the shallows, chasing minnows and they flash in the pockets behind the boulders, seizing a nymph dislodged from its home in the rubble bottom. Soon the sun will wax too strong, the light too stark and the fish will seek shelter from the heat and light. But for now, there is still mist on the water and the still wan light emboldens them. It feels like they too are there just for you.

My Dad was right about this as he was about so very many things that he took the time to teach me as a boy, not only about fishing, but about life. And I think of him and the things he taught me often. And even though he is gone, he is with me when I make that first step into the morning mist and wait for the unveiling to begin. An hour in the morning is worth two at night.