Wednesday, April 4, 2012

Silenced Observations

Waltzing amongst the multitude of swirling currents and taunting greedy predators below, it didn't take long for the single dry fly to become the target of a wily brown trout.  I watched as a mouth appeared from below, and in a fraction of a second, the synthetic offering attached to the end of my line sat firmly embedded in the corner of the unsuspecting trout's mouth.  Shaking his head in disapproval, the fish soon succumbed to the resistance of my tippet, unaware that all I desired was a picture before releasing him to fight another day.

I watched appreciatively as the trout regained stability, and swiftly slipped through my fingers as it hurriedly swam for the security of the depths.  Refocusing my uninterrupted attention on the slow moving run, I watched.  Not moving, not casting, just... watching.  Minutes passed, when a small dimple caught the attention of my peripheral vision.  The fish sat farther downstream in the slowest moving part of the run... A rather tough position to get to on my part.  Knowing that the fish would have all the time he needed to evaluate my imitation, my fears of cruel rejection combatted my willingness.  This was just a fish... yet it worried me more than being denied by any good looking girl.  

So, I removed to beaten little fly from its secure spot on my hook keeper, and crouched on the bank as I prepared to cast, knowing that my fate awaited.  I knew I would have one cast at this fish before he retreated to the depths, so it was now or never.  Emotions roaring inside of me, I dropped the fly 2 feet upstream of the trout's lie, and quickly laid a mend in the line.  Watching, watching, watching, surely I had already drifted over him, but some weird internal sense was screaming at me to keep the fly on the water.  It seemed I couldn't bring myself to cast again, I was going to get something on the first drift.

As if being summoned by the fish gods, a lazy brown appeared behind my fly, and as slowly as physically possible, he engulfed the fly gracefully. Resisting every urge to set the hook, I waited until he disappeared, and smoothly raised the rod.  Fighting valiantly, the educated trout dove underneath branches and rocks, making every attempt to break the 7x tippet.  Eventually the resistance proved superior, and he slid calmly into the deep bag of my net.  I had succeeded, a feeling that could be unparalleled by seemingly any other happening.  

I relished in my achievement, and knew that I could now call it a day.  Striding confidently away from the river, I felt on top of the world...  What a day.

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