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If "absence makes the heart grow fonder," then that may be one of the best reasons why anglers like me consider mid-April's statewide opening of stream trout fishing an important event. That season has been closed since September 30th of last year, among the longest of closed seasons. The event does not carry quite the appeal of May's general opener (think "walleyes"). But it brings out both committed trout anglers, and others who see it as a temporary diversion until the real fishing stampede begins next month.

Although there are a limited number of streams in Southeast Minnesota where you can fish for trout beginning in January, for those who live elsewhere, that is a mere flirtation, a temporary distraction from the devotion you have for your favorite local stream, the one you know almost as well as the back of your hand. Then again, a good trout stream, like a good relationship, is probably never completely or perfectly known.

You don't expect April fishing to be easy. Most years there will still be runoff from snow and ice, melting later in forested stream valleys than in our backyards. That water is cold, and the trout are not as active as they will be later. In my case, there is a spring spawning run of suckers into my favorite stream. This "wall-to-wall" influx of large, strong fish can move trout temporarily out of their usual holding areas. Being skittish in shallow water, suckers can set off alarm bells to the trout when an angler steps into the stream, or carelessly moves along the bank. And a spooked trout is one you won't catch.

I don't particularly resent this intrusion, knowing that in a couple of weeks the suckers will have finished their reproductive affairs and returned to the lake downstream. They will have left behind millions of protein-rich eggs available to hungry trout, which will give the trout a huge nutritional boost, and enhance their survival. Not least, the suckers will have made the trout fishing difficult enough that many anglers will quickly move on to other fishing, restoring the privacy that is one of the best things about trout fishing.

So, while the hope is to catch one or more trout on opening weekend, just to say you did, whatever the fish count, the stream will seem like an old friend you've not seen for months. You'll see, smell, and hear the proof that a more energetic life is returning after the slumbering months of winter.

Being a strategic thinker, I decided to leave my favorite stream to the sunny Saturday crowd, and fish Sunday instead. Some of the opening day throng would no doubt have given up in discouragement, and the forecast of clouds and rain might further thin out the competition.[[In-content Ad]]

I had not counted, however, on an all-day rain, blindingly heavy at times, with wind of a velocity that brought large branches down from the treetops. The loud cracking as they broke made me look up more than once. It also reminded me of an old lumbering era expression: "widow-maker," a term for a large branch, or treetop, that hangs up in another tree, and later falls on an unsuspecting logger; or, on someone walking a trail along a trout stream.

From time to time there were also peals of thunder, which - one need not be a weatherman to know - means there is also lightning. The one angler I met on this rain-drenched afternoon had caught a pair of brook trout, "...right during a little spell of lightning and thunder; after that they quit biting," he said.

As much as I love to catch fish, and rain sometimes does stimulate trout to feed, I don't endorse waving a graphite fishing rod around when there is lightning nearby. Graphite makes a very good lightning rod, and ignoring the risk is on par with a golfer holding a metal club while sheltering under a tree. Not smart.

Despite the early spring we've had in Minnesota, the greening along my trout stream was just starting to fill in the patchwork that will eventually carpet the forest floor completely. Only one woodland flower, the hardy and precocious bloodroot, was in full flower, though on this dark, wet day, most blossoms were closed. Its name comes from the bloodroot's use as a red dye and paint by native Americans.

Not far behind will be the marsh marigold, which likes wetter ground, often rooting itself in the very banks of the stream. Also early in the parade of woodland color will be the common, or white, trillium, and the hepatica, whose small, star-like pastel blossoms range from white to pink, and blue to lavender. Hepatica's three-lobed, liver-shaped leaves were once used to treat ailments of that human organ.

As much as I tried to deduce where the trout might be holding, and where the suckers might not be, my efforts that afternoon were rewarded only by hooking suckers, so prevalent are they in the stream at this time of year. I don't consider myself a trout snob, but - irrational though it might be - I confess to a definite prejudice against suckers. I find them one of the homeliest fish that swims, though there are some who smoke them, and find them a genuine delicacy. Those folks are welcome to my share!

As for the trout, in the immortal words of World War II's General Douglas MacArthur, "I shall return!"

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