Moving slowly down the towpath, hat brim pulled low to shield my eyes from the setting sun, a steady stream of joggers and bikers pass by me. I select my biggest hares ear nymph out of my trout box and tie on with uncertain expectations. Mud banks slope moderately to deeper water, ceding only a narrow window in which I’m able to spot feeding fish. The water has a tepid green coloration to it, but is clear enough to allow a few feet of visibility. The canal soon passes beneath a cobblestone bridge, and I climb down a short flight of stairs to the old towpath, now repurposed as a walking trail. When the walk sign turns, I cross and make my way down a side street. It is now managed by the National Park Service, and to my delight, is home to an abundant population of carp. Eisenhower designated the canal in its entirety a National Monument. In 1961, 37 years after the canal was decommissioned, President Dwight D. Completed in 1850, the canal runs for 184.5 miles between Washington, D.C, and Cumberland, Maryland, and was operational in some capacity for nearly a hundred years. Yet my desire to fish remains strong even if I am detached from wild places, which is why I find myself waiting for the walk sign in Georgetown.Ī block off the busy main street runs the Chesapeake and Ohio Canal. Instead of hiking through high country meadows to meandering spring creeks, I now sit at a desk in Washington and stare at a computer all day. It was bliss.įor better or worse, at the conclusion of the following school year I succumbed to the pressures of the real world and did not set my sights West again. I spent my days on the river and nights under the stars, totally consumed by the western landscape.
At the conclusion of the spring semester, I went westward to realize my dreams.
#Georgetown scuttlebutt professional
While my classmates talked with nervous excitement about new cities, competitive internships, and professional networking, I dreamt of mountains views, wide skies, and hopper-slurping cutties. Two summers ago, I neglected the surmounting pressure to pad my resume with a real job and instead pursued a trout-bum lifestyle in Southwest Montana. Far more people carry briefcases and shopping bags than fly rods and landing nets. I receive a fair share of curious glances, but I understand. Restaurant goers lounge around linen-covered tables in the evening heat, and groups of shoppers clutching designer handbags pass among boutiques. It’s 6:30pm in Georgetown, an upscale neighborhood of Washington, D.C. I stop at the crosswalk and survey my surroundings.
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