|Brilliantly marked rainbow trout|
I don't count fish anymore. Numbers don't impress me and I'm not sure they really impress many others. If you know any fisherman, you understand the relative accuracy of numbers of fish caught and their respective sizes. They're pretty much always taken with a healthy dose of skepticism.
When I look back to my fishing experiences, I pretty much describe them as follows:
- Got a few
- It was a good day
- I did so well I never stopped smiling the entire day
- Don't even bother telling anyone, because nobody will believe you!
|Wild brown trout|
As the sun was getting low, I worked my way back to the truck. I knew there were a couple of very large fish in the run just down from the parking area. I'm sure they've seen their share of flies (and even a few outlaw worms since I found an empty styrofoam container tossed in the streamside brush), but I decided to drift a few flies through before I called it a day. As if to end the day in appropriate fashion, I watched a large dark form shift slightly in the current as my flies passed. I lifted the rod smartly and the gin clear water erupted. The big fish shot straight in the air, slammed back to that water, and bolted downstream. My little 4-weight fly rod bucked and the reel howled.
I'm not sure how big that fish was, but when I had my hands on her, I knew I'd caught smaller steelhead! I unhooked her and slid her back in the water where she disappeared into the ever-darkening water. I clipped off my flies and walked to the truck.
Sitting once again on the bumper, I slid my boots off and breathed in the sweet evening air. Life is pretty good, I thought to myself. Pretty good indeed.