The Fish Story

The Fish Story  (how I got my avatar)

        It was a warm summer morning and my son Brian and I were fishing  the river. We were just past the trail that leads to the stairs that go up to the school playground. You know the area where the water slows down and the river widens out. It’s a spot where I know Brian can wander a bit without my worrying about him drowning. The general rule is he has to stay within eyesight of me. He is after all only 11 years old and while I feel he probably knows this area better than I do, I did promise his mother I’d keep him nearby.

I was fishing the deep pool right where the trail meets the river with some minor success. I could see  Brian. He was downstream from me, walking along the top of a huge fallen tree/log  in the river. He was jigging along the log when all of a sudden “Boom” his rod bent right over. “Splash!” Brian was in the water.  I laughed as the big bass on the other end won the first round of tug of war. To his credit and my dismay Brian won the second round of tug of war. He still had a hold of his rod and managed to land the big bass.

Another hour or two went by, I had limited success but Brian seemed to be on fire! It seemed as though every other cast he  had a fish on his hook !

It was time to go home and as we were headed up the hill part of the trail. Brian is chirping me with “Brian 10 dad 3”. He is of course referring to the amount of fish we’d caught. He was  gloating at his good fortune! Like father like son his mother would say. As we approached the part of the trail that left the river towards our house Brian asked me “Do you want to know where the real big fish are dad?” For a brief moment I had an epiphany, it was as I had suspected all along. Brian was a bit of a river rat. What do ya know another case of like father like son. In my brief hesitation to answer his question I saw a look of apprehension cross his face. He realized he may have let too much slip about his knowledge of the river. “Relax” I said hoping to keep his trust. “If you know where the big fish are feel free to show me”. He kept walking straight and I was sure he no longer wanted to share his fish knowledge. “Where are you going?” I asked. We were at the point where you’d leave the trail to go to our house. “Over here” he was standing at the railing by the culvert where the run off water enters the river.

With quiet excitement I approached the railing. “There” he pointed straight down about 20′.  There is a steep drop off   here made up of an assortment of rocks. It is at this point where the water meets the rocks and the run off water enters into the river that there is a deep cool pool. In and out of the depths you could see the shadows of and then briefly the full view of a couple of trophy sized fish. “look!” I exclaimed with some astonishment. “It’s a trout!” Now I have fished this river for 40 some odd years. Besides the large amount of carp, suckers and sunfish; I’ve caught  and I’ve seen caught any number of big bass, pike and pickerel. Until now I’d never seen a trout in this river. Sure I’d heard the stories but until now they were just that, stories.

Now I had to figure out how to get down to that fish. I grabbed the railing with one hand and the small trunk of a nearby tree with the other and slid my feet down. Once my feet had gained purchase of the rocks I reached up and Brian handed me my rod and tackle. About an hour had passed and with the bored sighs coming from Brian above me I realized there was nothing in my tackle box that interested that trout. With the resignation of someone defeated I headed home with my son. “Brian 10 dad 3” he chirped me all the way home.

When we arrived home Anne had dinner ready and was wondering were we had been! The hunt for the trout had made us late but the delay had given me the added advantage of drying Brian’s clothing.  I didn’t have to explain why or how our son had managed to get soaking wet. As I know she is about to read this two things are in my favour. One, about eight or nine years have passed and Brian is now a young man. Secondly,  as my golfing buddies swear to it, it is easier to beg forgiveness than it is to ask for permission.

After dinner I kept looking out the window  and knowingly Anne looked at me and said “go get it”. You didn’t have to tell me twice. I was out the door with rod and tackle but what was I to try? I had already thrown everything I had at it. I drove to Canadian Tire and grabbed some roe already “netted” and kept in water in a small jar. I felt with this , some tiny hooks and last but not least some worms , surely I was armed  to hook this fish. I was obsessed. I approached the railing and peered downwards. There in the depths I could see him, the trout coming and going within the shadows of the deep pool. With renewed excitement I scrambled down to the rocks to try my luck again. Two hours and 10 smokes later (I still smoked at this time) with darkness on the horizon I worked my way up the drop off to the trail. I arrived home just after sunset; tired, fish-less and  a little dejected .

I didn’t sleep well that night and as I kept drifting in and out of consciousness I swear I could see that damn trout appearing and disappearing into the depths of the dark pool of my subconsciousness. At 6 am Sunday morning I was up and ready to go. My wife rolled over a little dismayed at the time but not at all dismayed at my antics. We had been married for about sixteen years at this stage of our lives. She knew this was just another one of my countless obsessions. With that she rolled back to her side with the blanket rolled around her and rejoined her sleep.

I was determined to catch that fish but how? I’d thrown the entire contents of my tackle box not to mention roe and worms at this fish to no avail. Then it came to me. Flies! Trout like flies and I just happened to have some buried in my garage. They had been given to me several years ago but seeing as I did not have a fly rod they’d never made it into my tackle box.  Armed with my new fly tackle I was headed back to the river. It took me all of five minutes to cross the street, walk down the crescent , jump onto the trail, scramble down the rocks and there I stood at the edge of the river. I would soon be   wondering what now?  You see I tied a fly onto my regular six pound test line and it did not have enough weight to draw the line taut. Well I thought, lets open the bail and see if I can give this a cast. In doing so, if you haven’t already guessed, about an inch of line came off the end of the rod but 20′ came off the bail. I was  staring at a fisherman’s nightmare, a birds nest of line a foot away from my reel.

Twenty minutes later with renewed hope I stood with rod and line untangled. I was still pondering on how I was to project that fly out into the river. A weight might work I thought, but I countered myself with the thought  that a weight would drag the fly down to soon or give the fish a heads up that somethings up? Myself, like most fisherman believe trophy sized  fish are smarter than smaller fish. How do you think they became trophy sized in the first place, we reason. So okay, I deduced that  a weighted fly wouldn’t work.

A great idea  finally struck! Starting with about 3′ of line already hanging off the end of my rod I opened the bail of my reel, keeping the string trapped down with my right index finger. Next I carefully grab the fly keeping the hook flat between the finger and thumb of my left hand. Now I pulled  the fly keeping the string taut with my right finger near the bail, this forces the rod to bend forming a crescent shape. If I can release the fly from my left hand at the same time as I release my right finger near the bail I figured  the force of tension created by the bent rod should propel the fly out into the river. Or so I hoped.

I tried it and the first attempt only went out about 5 or 6 feet but that was enough to get me pumped. I knew that  with a little better timing I could do better. The second attempt went according to Hoyle! I released my pressure on the line at the  bail and fly in perfect harmony. I watched as the fly sailed out about 15′ landing on the water’s surface at the center of the deep pool. All of a  millisecond passed and BOOM fish on! I’d been prepared; thank goodness my drag was set properly because that fish ran quickly away with my line. I could not follow as it was too deep and the shore line to precarious with all the rocks. I could only reel in against his pull and trust my drag to work. This tug of war went on for  what seemed to be twenty minutes. At this point I’m not sure  who was more tired, me or the fish. At this point the fish changed tactics.  I told you they were smart.  It reversed direction swimming directly towards me and threw itself straight up into the air. I had been ready all the while keeping the line reeled in  and raising my rod high as the fishes body exited the water. The fish knows if he can get some slack in that line he can either spit the hook out or worse yet for the fisherman, break the line. My keeping the rod held high in unison with the trout jumping out of the water kept the line taut even as his tail danced atop the river’s surface.

My final actions seemed to break the beasts spirit. He succumbed to my will allowing me to reel him in to shore.  Triumphant and filled with the joy of victory I raised him up into the air!

Now you know.

as a side note when the fish was first caught he measured in at thirty-three inches  but has since grown to thirty-eight inches   😉