Light snow fell as I cast the fly to the seam past the log.  A deep pool in front of the log looked fishy and I was hoping to entice a Cutthroat and trick him into taking a dry fly.  The air temperature was right at the freezing mark and the overcast skies only completed the blanket like feel of the afternoon.  I remembered reading an ancient haiku about the sound of snowfall on water.  The line guides on the bamboo 5 wt were freezing up again and to cure it I dipped the rod in the stream.  At the instant I dipped the rod a trout splashed the sz 18 olive Elk Hair Caddis.  I missed the strike but no matter.  A trout, probably a Cutt went after a dry fly in late November, in a snowstorm.  I let the fly swing out in the tailout of the pool and cast again to the same spot.  I really didn’t expect anything.  I’ve come to view these winter outings as Zen casting practice.  I’ve always felt safe when I hear rain or snow on a tent or on the hood of my shell.  Somehow the soft impacts remind me eventually that I’m warm and dry inside here and that’s a comfortable feeling.  It always takes a while for me to slow down enough to realize it though and I wish I had an off button.  That slowing down process is really a struggle.  I’ve refined my gear to the point where I don’t carry much.  Ed Engle’s small fly books inspired me to carry only the essentials and that helps quiet my mind simply because there’s not much thinking involved in getting geared up.  Fly rod, waders, lanyard, fly box, hat and glasses, maybe a daypack with food and layers.  Easy to keep ready to go and no prep to speak of.  So the struggle is internal and it simply takes time.  A Native American friend of mine says it takes 3 weeks to slow down enough to really hear the river.  I believe him.  I can slow down a lot in one day however, and the result is that I can finally hear the water and actually be where I am and when I am sooner when the weather is bad.  Maybe the reduced frame of reference provided by the hood helps to make the whole picture smaller and easier to digest.  I’m grateful for the changes in the seasons because I can look forward to winter fishing as easily as I can dream about beautiful July days where the Cutts will hit a ¼ x 20 bolt tied on a shoestring.  The snow fell harder and I moved upstream to a deep pool under a deadfall.  I slapped the fly off of one of the larger trunks and as soon as it hit the water I was into a 10” Cutt.  He ran for the brush but I was able to turn him and quickly released him with the release tool.  Lovely. What could be finer.