Twas the night before the night before Christmas, when all through the land
Not a fly fisher was casting, neither woman, nor man;
The water kept flowing over limestone beds with ease,
Bathing in moonlight, sounds muffled by snow covered trees;
Somewhere in the Rockies, Appalachains or Midwest,
A lone fisher buckled their waders to their chest;
They tied on their boots, breath steaming from their mouth,
and blowed in their hands looking north and south;
When all of a sudden, a fish rose in the stream,
A ripple released from the eddies to the seam;
It was hard to see on this moonlit night,
But no fish could escape this fly fisher’s sight.
So straight to the tippet, then to the pack,
Then to the fly box for the plan of attack;
On Caddis! On Hendrickson! On Blue Winged Olive and Scud!
On Zeebra Midge! On Phesant Tail Nymph and C. D. C. Emerger Bug!
Tied tight to the line then stripped out the rest,
Laying out a cast that was niether good, nor better, but best;
Reaching out flat, a perfect loop to the water,
The line pulled tight and pulled harder and harder;
A flood of emotion, elation, just beaming,
With fish now in hand the fisher saw this was the legend of which the fisher had been dreaming;
Known across this land as only the Czar,
Searched out by many from lands near and far;
In that quiet moonlight it was just the fisher and fish,
No cameras nor witnesses, just a child with a fulfilled wish;
The fisher wispered a thank you and the body slid from his hand;
The adventure ended just as soon as it began;
Walking back along the bank, to the cold parking lot,
This was a Christmas the fisher never forgot.
So on chilled winter nights, when you are tucked in and covered,
Remember the Czar still swims out there, waiting to be discovered.