The First Casts of a New Year

Getting back on the water for the first time in a while is always a dual edged sword. The excitement of re-entering the surroundings you hold so dear, the places that breathe life back into your body, is real and dare I say adrenaline pumping. But there are always those voices in the back of your head, the ones questioning your sanity, your ability to be successful at the task at hand. That task being catching the first fish of the new year. A fools errand? We were going to find out.

After a long day’s drive down the scenic I-81 corridor, through central Pennsylvania, the tracing the length of western Virginia (with a pit stop along the way), I found myself in Western North Carolina late the evening prior. The week before it was reported to have been unseasonably warm in the 60s and the fishing quite good, but on this morning, the thermometer was stuck in the mid-30s.

I was only planning to fish for a few hours. It was January 2nd, 2026, a day behind the pace of 2025’s New Year’s Day fishing outing, but an opportunity to get on the board and start the year off right.

I slept in a little that morning, both car-lagged from my drive and hoping for a little bit of an afternoon warm up. But with the overcast clouds, it was clear the mercury was only going rise a degree or two the rest of the day. After a gas-station sausage, egg, and cheese biscuit, I headed to the stream hopeful, but with excuses for failure conveniently pre-loaded.

There were no real signs of anybody else fishing. Cruising the road to the National Park trailhead, none of the cars in pull offs had the typical fishing stickers on their windows or rod vaults attached to their trucks. I don’t think I saw a single Toyota Tacoma. Yeah, the anglers, or at least the fly anglers didn’t seem out. There were hikers and sightseers a plenty. Especially those trying to catch a selfie with the grazing elk.

I chose to fish a short, but favorite section of water to me. Ironically, it’s also the place I had my window smashed in a few years back. But it’s easy access and easy exit, and really pretty and tenkara-perfect. I pulled on my waders and boots, strung up the rod and dropped into the water upstream from a small wooden bridge that marks the entry to a popular hiking trail.

For some reason, the fishing gods chose to reward me this afternoon. It wasn’t long until I was on my first fish of the day, and of the year. A typically sized rainbow for these waters, filled to the brim with friskiness, enough to put a nice bend in my ultralight tenkara rod. After a run downstream was controlled, the skunk was gone as the fish settled in the bottom of the net.

What followed in the next 3 to 4 hours of slow, deliberate wading was a handful more fish just like the first one. My angling pace wasn’t dictated by a decision to thoughtfully fish every little nook and cranny the stream revealed, rather a strong desire to not misplace a step and tumble into the freezing water. Which I didn’t, also a win on the day.

After having my fill, I collapsed my rod and gave out a deep, smoky exhale. Exiting the water at a convenient point to scramble up the bank and onto the road, a calming comfort of satisfaction blanketed my body. The checklist was complete.

• First fish caught (and few more to boot)
• Spent the afternoon in beautiful surroundings
• Most importantly, no mishaps

That warm shower back at the hotel was going to feel very, very nice. Which in fact, it did.

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