Tell a brief story about catching a special fish. I wrote this for another thread, and it occurred to me it might make a good thread
of it's own. You get points for creative solutions for tricky problems: think the best passages of A River Runs Through It
I had been fishing bamboo for less than a year. And I hadn't caught many fish on a dry fly yet. Thus I was getting frustrated after a long day without much luck. I had been flogging with nymphs and streamers, putting too much muscle into casts and casting way to often with a seemingly adolescent energy that was flagging. But then I managed to relax and look around long enough to take in a bit of the beauty of the river and forest. And then I noticed a little white moth flitting through the air, so I watched it a moment. And it swooped too low, got caught in the film, and was carried slowly downstream. As it floated away, it occurred to me that a trout might rise to it, so I sort of followed its progress, first with my eyes and then, as it got further away, my feet. About 150 yards downstream the moth passed under a thick bush that arched into the stream. There was a little ripple, and the moth disappeared. With my heart pounding a little with new hope, I nervously tied on a pathetic looking sulpher I had amateurishly tied, and I began what looked like a hopeless effort to drift the fly under that bush. With my limited casting skills, I casted and casted. I broke off flies in the tree above. I'd get the fly caught in the bush. But then I started casting further and further upstream, with the idea of getting the fly in the invisible seam that had led the moth to his doom. It took a bunch of tries, but eventually the fly seemed to find the track. It floated under the overhanging branches, and I could see the light suddenly glinting off the side of the fish as he rose. He seemed to pause for a second, and then he took the fly in his mouth as if eating a choice canapé. I held my breath when I set the hook. And I worked that fish in like a starving man, gently and eagerly, like a precious thing. When he finally came to hand, the brown wasn't large. But he was wild, with red in his spots, and a butter yellow belly.
I had been fishing bamboo for less than a year. And I hadn't caught many fish on a dry fly yet. Thus I was getting frustrated after a long day without much luck. I had been flogging with nymphs and streamers, putting too much muscle into casts and casting way to often with a seemingly adolescent energy that was flagging. But then I managed to relax and look around long enough to take in a bit of the beauty of the river and forest. And then I noticed a little white moth flitting through the air, so I watched it a moment. And it swooped too low, got caught in the film, and was carried slowly downstream. As it floated away, it occurred to me that a trout might rise to it, so I sort of followed its progress, first with my eyes and then, as it got further away, my feet. About 150 yards downstream the moth passed under a thick bush that arched into the stream. There was a little ripple, and the moth disappeared. With my heart pounding a little with new hope, I nervously tied on a pathetic looking sulpher I had amateurishly tied, and I began what looked like a hopeless effort to drift the fly under that bush. With my limited casting skills, I casted and casted. I broke off flies in the tree above. I'd get the fly caught in the bush. But then I started casting further and further upstream, with the idea of getting the fly in the invisible seam that had led the moth to his doom. It took a bunch of tries, but eventually the fly seemed to find the track. It floated under the overhanging branches, and I could see the light suddenly glinting off the side of the fish as he rose. He seemed to pause for a second, and then he took the fly in his mouth as if eating a choice canapé. I held my breath when I set the hook. And I worked that fish in like a starving man, gently and eagerly, like a precious thing. When he finally came to hand, the brown wasn't large. But he was wild, with red in his spots, and a butter yellow belly.
