Amelia asked this question after I had a few moments to come down from the event. It was a strange question to ask if you'd just shown up at the photo moment with an 8 # brown in my hands. But it was appropriate and I totally understood why she would ask the question.
As we walked up the river, I was a little disappointed that we hadn't seen more fish - any fish, actually. We'd seen a platoon of kayakers and rafters go through from the highway as we drove to the far end of the valley before crossing and driving up the other side to our put in. I hoped that the boats hadn't come through our water, but with no fish showing, it was likely. I saw a rise in a deep pool, but then the wind began howling. To top it off, my vendetta against paradise ducks was cemented as we came up to a favorite pool. Paradise ducks are the size of Canada geese, just fatter, extremely curious, territorial (at least with me), and extremely annoying with a loud squawk and zipping sound. Every time we come across these birds, we're approaching good water. And as it always goes, the birds see us, take off running upstream up the shoreline seam, fly up, turn, fly low over the water and disappear for 2 minutes downstream before turning to come back up to the run, where they hover above the water, running upstream with their large feet in a slow motion landing that never lands but wreaks havoc on the seamline. This day, these two birds did this to us over 25 times in 800 m of water. High quality water. And we saw no fish.
I am no hunter and don't kill things by nature. But these things drive you nuts.
Agitated and frustrated at the prospects, we came to the very last possible holding water in the long run. A sideways sliding current over top of a static, upstream facing, shallow trough. Enough folding water to keep from seeing in but likely looking water. There was a dark shape under the fold that didn't look right, facing the right direction. I drew nearer and it moved oddly, not in time to the current. A good fish, certainly. I wasn't 100% sure it was a fish, about 90%. Maybe it was the current over a large rock. It was certainly looking too fat to be a trout, perhaps too dark as well.
I slid to the river downstream and took a cast, the wind howling and driving the cast too far right and the sideways current took it 4 feet right of the fish. I was at least safe from spooking it. I cast again and the drift was right. In the choppy water I lost sight of the fly, looked to see where my dark shadow was, then looked and found my fly. I again looked for my shadow - it was gone. I again looked back at my fly - it was gone. So, I set my hook. And in an instant I was 50m into my backing as this freight train took off.
For this trip, I tied a few red wire nymphs that work as well as a few others. The first few fish of the trip were caught on them but they bent out of shape after one trout - useless for any more fishing. The hooks are the first I've ever used to do so and I'd given up on using them. Except in that moment of watching this fat trout screaming downstream around boulders at the far side of the river - it was hooked on a weak hook.
Perfect.
For 10 minutes, which is by far the longest I've ever fought a trout over here, I cursed at the fish to come in, for it to turn its head. I simply couldn't. Eventually it came out of the heavy current, the 10 minute fight not due to any lack of effort on my part (as you see in the bent rod shots below). I considered popping off the fly but held on another moment, just in case. It was worth it.
I finally was able to get a net under it. As I did, a wave of something came over me and I had to sit down on a boulder beside me. I didn't know how to feel, given the environmental factors that had me rattled before the hook up, the fact I wasn't 100% sure it was a fish, then not seeing the take, and worrying about a shoddy hook as I fought the fish. It wasn't the usual elation of catching a large trout or seeing the perfect take. It became as anti-climactic and mundane as landing a large Bow R trout on a San Juan Worm, but as nerve stretching as a 20", hot trout on a small stream on light tippet. I just couldn't, and still can't put my finger to how I felt. But I had to sit down.
As I sat, I looked at my nymph. Yes, bent out of shape. Given where on the lips of the fish it was hooked, how bent it was, how hot the fish was, and how hard I cranked on the rod, I'm rather surprised I was able to land it.
It was just a series of lucky things happening after a series of frustrations. And I'm still not sure how I feel about it. So, when AJ asked me if I enjoyed myself, I knew why she asked. I just didn't know how to answer and still don't. The answer is yes, I just don't know to what degree.
The fish was as wide as it is deep and while short, wound up at 8 pounds.
And it wasn't -33C like it was at home at that exact moment. That made me happy. :)
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