Every time I see our local creeks flow with fresh, clear water on the days following a rainstorm, I recall a dream I’ve had for decades.
In that dream, it’s the middle of a nice spring day and I’m fly fishing along a shaded section of Sonoma Creek, somewhere south of the Ig Vella Bridge that connects West Napa Street to Riverside Drive.
The trees are so high and large that their branches shade almost all of the water that still is flowing from pool to pool, riffle to riffle, even though most of the seasonal storms are long gone.
I cast my fly upstream into the tail-out of a large pool and a beautiful rainbow rises to engulf it. The fish is bright, colorful and full of fight. After several minutes I bring him close. Without lifting him out of the water, I shake the fly loose and he swims back to his spot in the pool.
I stroll along the creek bed, wading through riffles when I have to, catching and releasing more trout. None of them are very big, perhaps 9-to-12 inches.