"Gotcha!" I yelled to nobody. As far as I knew, there wasn't another human within a quarter mile or so. This can only mean one thing: I've started talking to trout. This particular one was connected to the other end of my fishing line. I missed him (or her) a couple of times before I finally set the hook with decent timing. The fish ran back at me after I pulled it away from the willow where I'm sure it wanted to hide. My line went slack because I wasn't fast enough, so I was sure it had self-released when the tension was lost in the line. In short order, the eight-inch brook trout was in hand and released. Father's Day was shaping up nicely. Much better, in fact, than the previous two days, where I'd only managed one little brown each day. Those were short sessions with several brief hookups, but only one tally mark each day. No worries. We anglers can always formulate rationalization and tales of the ones that got away. I don't mind them getting close and then escaping. I prefer to identify the species, but I'm in it for the supplemental dopamine.
I had fun this past weekend. I'd spent the two previous weekends brookie-hunting with my new Epic 686 (aka Monday.) I mixed it up and fished Friday and Saturday with the 4-weight Butter Stick (aka Mellow Yellow.) Then it got crazy and I grabbed the wife's Sage ONE 5-weight (aka Rebar) and overlined it with my Rio Gold WF6F. To be discussed in later chapters...
The weekend weak-ended with disappointment as a husband, however. Socializing, meal times, and other factors left us with only one window for my wife and I to fish together. I had really only hoped for one thing from our last pre-summer weekend at the campground: a fish in her hands. It was a hot day, the water was still mildly stained, and so we tried a couple of terrestrials. I had one on, then lost it. Then she made an exclamatory noise. She'd seen her hopper disappear in a swirl of movement. "Where'd it go?" she asked herself... "OH! Yeah, I'm supposed to do something now!" Too late... No other takers.
We stopped at one more place with two good fishy spots within 10 yards of each other. I tied on an elk hair caddis for her, but it was too small to see in the fading light. It was replaced with a parachute Adams and she went to work casting exactly where I'd directed. I got bored watching, and turned to the downstream eddy. Two casts over the fast current onto the still water with my caddis... Fish on! I walked upstream and showed the fish to her, and watched her expression melt from shock to contempt. Sensing that the situation required an immediate remedy if I wished to avoid becoming a drowning victim, I walked her down to exactly where I had been standing and described what to do. I then bravely walked away, scanning the bank that had given her no sign of life. A rise. A twenty foot cast... Missed! Another... Gotcha! Oh, crap! I hope she doesn't see this!!! I briskly hauled the nine-inch brown trout in and released it. With much guilt, I looked over my shoulder. She was still tossing her fly.
I approached, composed myself, and asked, "Anything?"
"Yeah, I had one on, but it released itself... I've had a couple of bites, but I think they're done here. Me, too." We were wet-wading in sandals and water shoes, so the feet were going from numb to numb-with-pain. As we climbed out of the creek she asked, "Did you get anything up there?"
Instead of standing there in shocked silence, I should have sighed, shrugged, and muttered, "Nope."
I don't remember much after that...
(Just kidding. Mrs. FA had a few choice words for me in jest, but no Fathers/Husbands were actually harmed in the true-life version of this tale. She graciously accepted my apology, because she knew how badly I wanted her to catch something other than frostbite.)
Great attitude, Chris! I would bet as you fly fish more and gain more confidence that the "totality" of the trip will become even more ingrained in your memory bank.
ReplyDeleteThe "totality" is hardly ever lost. What I'll lose is the images and other details of the fish I briefly hooked and lost, the anxiety I felt walking through a huge patch of wild parsnip, the full moon rising and the dew on my toes as a took an evening stroll through the grass in the one-of-a-kind campground.
DeleteI have to admit that the confidence is nice. I look back on the same weekends from last year and I know how badly I struggled to make a 20 foot cast. I only found myself struggling, even with my "Parkinson's" arm, after a few hours of casting. Fatigue hits everyone.
Thanks for helping me focus on this, Mel. Sometimes I forget why I'm writing.
Chris, 20 ft casts I haven't made one of those in years.
ReplyDeleteFocus on what's important, catching and releasing even prematurely those little brook trout.
I'll get there, Alan. But first, I have some mental demons that need to be appeased. I am a lifelong obsessive-compulsive perfectionist, attempting to learn more about myself and this Universe through the calculus of fly angling. Often, the solution to an equation is just the first step in understanding a complex multivariable problem. Yet, there is satisfaction, and ephemeral peace, to be found in small solutions.
DeleteIts so much tougher to watch your wife or kid "not" catch anything despite your efforts, than to get skunked yourself. But I know there was much more enjoyed by you both regardless of fish caught or missed.
ReplyDeleteThe part I enjoyed most was watching Mrs. FA take a 7-foot 3-weight Sage Response and make some beautiful cramped-quarters casts. Her casting skills are improving very quickly. And I love how she calls that rod "my Little Monster."
DeletePam and I go fishing together but when we get to the water we split up. (her choice, not mine) I tend to give unwanted and usually unneeded advice. Pam doesn't take advice...she catches fish. Husbands rarely make good instructors with their wives.
ReplyDeleteAgreed, Howard. After 22 years of being together, I finally learned this Rule of Being a Companion to a Wife: Do not attempt to teach her anything for which she has not directly solicited instruction from you. Keep yer big yap shut. If she wants instruction, there are better sources than me.
DeleteI gave no casting advice during this session. I just pointed where I'd caught trout and offered a few flies from my boxes when she asked what to use. Slowly, I understand my true place in this world...