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It never ceases to amaze me at how good it feels to stretch out the first casts of the fly-fishing season. Last Sunday I sneaked across the border into Wisconsin to Seven Pines Lodge, where I thought I'd have a look at the place, assess any potential stream clean-up, and of course, do a bit of fishing.

The air temperature was above freezing, which is one of my important requirements for winter fishing. Believe me, if the temp drops just a few degrees below freezing - particularly on a cloudy day - equipment tends to stop working as it should and fly lines tend to stiffen and freeze to rod guides.

My second and third winter fishing requirements I suppose cannot be called requirements in the true sense of the word. They're more like really important factors that can have a tremendous bearing on fishing success. Along with above freezing temperatures, I prefer to fish on a calm day with little wind and bright sunshine.

Winter trout, by and large, become quite active feeders during the warmest two hours of the day. With regard to fishing of any kind, there are few hard and fast rules. But, when the bright sun is at its highest point in the sky and beats down on a stretch of water (raising the water temperature just a fraction of a degree), it will often increase bug activity and, as a natural and handy consequence, trout activity.

I arrived at the lodge and immediately considered the heavy, leaden skies threatening cold rain and the tall pines moving just enough to remind me that there was something of a breeze. Under these conditions, it's literally impossible to even venture a guess as to how an early March afternoon will pan out.

At the appointed hour, when the mercury in the small thermometer hanging from my fly vest seemed to raise a degree or two at 1:00 p.m., I made my way upstream to the tail-out water below the storied wooden footbridge. Either the big fish would be actively feeding that day, or the big fish would choose - for any number of reasons - to lay low and refuse to sample my flies. Sometimes, it simply boils down to that. No sense in talking smart and making excuses if, in reality, the fish have the final say in the matter. I hoped for the best as I tied on a small #18 black pheasant tail nymph, spit on it for luck, set the strike indicator at four feet, then zeroed in on a braided seam of current that looked like a typical big fish haunt.

My first cast sent the tiny fly and bright yellow indicator to a spot just left of the fastest water, a pretty good drift if you're a fish looking for a bug. A drift like that is equally advantageous to the angler, because the fly is traveling right between stagnant water, which allows the fish too much time to inspect and refuse the fly, and the fastest water that pulls the fly downstream too quickly, not allowing the lethargic, winter fish time to move in front of the fly to sample it.

The fly drifted only a few feet downstream before the indicator abruptly stopped and twitched on the water's surface. I set the hook and the 4-weight rod in my hand immediately felt the strain of a brightly colored rainbow trout. The fish was quite large, perhaps a 22-incher, but it was lethargic and came to the waiting net without incident. After a very brief photo, the large female was sent on her way in good shape.

I was alone that day, but that didn't prevent me from smiling at the sight of each pretty brown, brookie or rainbow that came to the net. At around three o'clock, the day quickly got darker and the light rain began to fall. But despite the weather, my spirit and essence were warmed by frequent bouts of excitement and doses of adrenaline that coursed through my veins with each hooked trout. Hooking and admiring those first few open-water fish every season magically takes a lifelong angler like me back in time. I experience feelings and emotions that haven't softened or dulled with age.

We've been called "fishing junkies" and "fishing addicts" and a few other choice descriptive words. All I'll say to that is that we anglers aren't addicted to the fish we hook nearly as much as the emotions that hook us while we're fishing. And who doesn't like to feel good? I do. That is why I fish. It simply boils down to that.

Dan Brown's weekly outdoor column is brought to you by Frankie's Bait and Marine, in Chisago City, and St. Croix Outdoors, in St. Croix Falls, Wis.

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