I've only gone trout
fishing three different times this year. It's unusual. But with
various responsibilities, or other things planned,
it's had to go to the wayside; however painful that is to type. Things
happen. And so in order to continue posting at least one adventure into my
blog each month, I had to dig up an outing that I journaled about many years
ago. I wrote it back on Wednesday, July 21st, 2010 after a day of
fishing. Enjoy! And don't worry, once the busyness from the
beginning of school winds down I'll get outdoors again. Until then, life itself is an adventure!
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When
I go trout fishing with my dad, and in our human clumsiness we happen to screw
something up, we usually make the next cast with a familiar old saying we share
between us. It usually comes after
tripping on some underwater structure of logs or rocks, splashing or making too
much noise, getting a hook caught in a branch laying on the water’s surface, or
some other unforeseen circumstance. It
is usually the type of circumstance I couldn’t even begin to dream up, or put
into words. Nine times out of ten a
trout within a one hundred mile radius would probably, “swim for the hills,”
after such a spectacle. We ourselves
usually laugh, but it’s a laugh that borders on delirium; especially after
having been on the water for several hours, or when we’ve been in the direct
sun too long, or we’re covered with swarming black flies and mosquitoes. With a hint of disdain we’ll continue on with
the next cast; more than likely right back into the same section of water we
just screwed up. As we make that cast we typically preface the retrieve with a
comment that goes along the line of, “Well, if any trout is left (in that once
in a lifetime bend in the creek), it would have to be a dumb trout!” We don’t comment like that to save face, or
hope that the God of fish would have mercy upon us, but rather to save the
creek from certain destruction. If a
trout was still holding up in the currents after one of our “casualties of
clumsiness”, and was left to reproduce and pass on those “dumb” genes, who
knows what the chain reaction would be to the future life in that
waterway. The very existence of the
micro-organisms, insects, and plant life, including the otters, eagles, and
black bear, could be at stake if the trout was eliminated from its environs due
to its own poor decisions or lack of awareness.
Who wouldn’t want to flee for their lives after a large, two-legged creature
came crashing through their favorite feeding spot; complete with neoprene
leggings? And yet, inevitably there is
that small chance that one trout may linger; a small chance that it may
actually still be feeding. And so, as
part of our civic duty after such a debacle, and as proponents of healthy, wary
trout populations in every clear, cool watershed system, we look to see if we
can “cull the herd” and save the trout as we know it by making that
half-hearted cast into the infected waters.
It
was under such conditions that I found myself last week while fishing
solo. I’d seen a few trout in the hour
or so that I’d been fishing, but they were merely feeble attempts at my
spinner. Light taps as they checked it
out.
And
then I came to a lovely, deep pool fed by a cascading flow of trickling water and
a swinging bend in the creek. I started
in the tail of the pool and began working my way up through it. Again, I saw several meager attempts, but no
hard strikes. At last I flipped my line
toward some over hanging grasses; hoping to find a trout hiding under the bank
and on the inside of the bend. It was
next to fresh, incoming water. What I
found instead was some exposed roots.
Hung up in them, I shook my pole up and down, lightly trying to free it
without too much ruckus. When that
didn’t work, I went to the harried, jiggling effect, trying to get the hook to
magically pop off the root fibers.
Lastly, I jerked the pole tip up, trying to rip it free as it slapped
the water’s surface time and again, but it was to no avail. I stumbled forward, reached down and of
course easily unhooked it.
Looking
ahead from my reach I saw there was about two feet of pocket water following
the current that was pouring over the rocks on down to my outstretched hand. I straightened back up and lightly flipped my
spinner into that bubbling water that was directly in front of me. I thought to myself, “Only a dumb trout would
still be there after all of my splashing around.” I of course made the cast anyways.
As
I finished that thought, twenty-two inches of brown trout exploded out from
under the bank. Somehow it had remained
safely hidden in a tight hold of water.
How it remained undaunted, I do not know. What I do know is that it struck with
vengeance, and I was very busy in a small area.
My pole was doubled over. The
large trout made several runs into the pool below me, but each time I managed
to turn its head back into the current and slowly brought it over to me. It took a few attempts to slide my hand under
its belly and bring it into the shallow head of the pool.
The
brown trout was flawless. It had vivid
coloring with its red spotted markings.
Its mouth was curved and beaked with a strong jaw line. Its back and belly were proportionately
streamlined. This trout, without
argument, was the picture of health. It
was perfect.
And
yet there it was in my hands. How
so? Was it the one out of ten trout whose
dumb genes were destined to destroy the species? Holding it even briefly would probably tell
you otherwise. More than likely it was
better described as, “just plain, dumb luck” on my part. At a point in the creek where the water was
loud and churning, the brown had detected no difference when my hook became
fouled in the roots. My approach went
unheeded as it had to face upstream in the stronger current. It could only be such a specimen through
opportunistic living and wary chances; if indeed there was such a thing for a
trout. The brown trout had remained
perfectly hidden, able to feed on the finest of foods at its own discretion, in
an impeccable location. I just happened
to come along under ideal circumstances, despite my clumsy actions, and was
fortunate enough to catch and hold the “perfect dumb trout.” I wished it well, and hoped its genes would
be passed on, as it slipped from my fingers and disappeared down into the pool.
See
you along The Way…
