Of Passage

A right of passage, it was then
To get up early, don your gear,
Get in the car, for dawn is near.
The first day of stream fishing, this year.
We went up the Menashtash Creek, I recall
The water gurgling on rock and stone.
It was quiet, for we were alone.
The ice had formed on the stream edge,
Best fishing then, the first of the season,
No worms or lures, no given reason.
Bait up the hook, cast in the pool,
That was the method and it was cool,
For you as a boy, whose passion to fish,
Was the great fulfillment of his only wish.
Limited out, on this opening day,
Fresh trout on the menu, in early May.