Grizz
02-16-2005, 08:43 PM
The young fisherman awoke early, 4:30 to be exact. His stomach was already brewing with excitement. He reached his arm around his sweet wife, told her he loved her & hopped out of bed. Today had been a long time coming.
He poured a cup & made his way into the garage. His gear had been arranged the night before also & all that was nessecerry, was to reassure it was all there & into the truck it went. His old "pre wetted" boots were next, followed by the dog & his beloved 6wt. He made his way back inside. He could here his wife stirring in the bedroom above & decided to let here make her way downstairs to say goodbye.
As he waited, he drifted off to remember the last FFishing trip he had made. It had been mid fall, nearly 5 months ago. That was the last time that his hectic schedule had allowed him a free day. His brother had arranged some terrestrial FFishing on a section of private water in SW Montana. He'd made the four hour drive from the city to meet his brother the night before. At the reserved Ranch guest house, his brother was waiting with a token bottle of the Glenlevit, a sixer of Sweet Grass, & his famous travel Humidor. The night was filled with laughter & stories of past excursions. The scotch dropped like butter & soon, they were both ready to retire. The next day was filled with some extraordinary fall angling. The water was theirs & theirs alone & the fish were eager to swim a rods length to envelop their sticky super sized creations. They both went through their entire hopper box trying to find a fly that these fish wouldn't eat. From #24 green ahphids to #2/0-L Green Caddydids, the fish rose & attacked with reckless abandon. At the end of the day, They were sunburned & exhausted, but wearing smiles the reached from sea to shining sea. Good fishing for sure & no one better to enjoy it with!
"Honey....., HONEY"....., He was startled to attention by his wifes plea's. "You were really daydreaming there, are you alright", she asked. "Better than all right!" he replied. That said, they said their goobye's, & he was out the door & down the road.
The wildlife was abundant as he drove deeper & deeper through the forest. His venue today was nothing new, he'd made this drive for many years. His brother had shown him the spot many years earlier, & he'd promised to keep this special place "secret". It was a little further down the road than most FFisherman were willing to go, but well worth the effort & extra miles. He arrived just as the sun decided to peek its sleepy head over the tall granite peaks. As he stepped out into the morning, he was quick to notice that the air up here was a wee bit nippy, more so than back home. He quickly slipped his waders on & strung his rod. He'd packed his weathered 6 wt today. With the higher spring flows, & a plan of chucking "MEAT", the 6wt would be optimal.
The night before he'd tied two lovely creations, a pattern that he'd been shown years earlier by a colorful older gentleman. He'd startled the old man from a bank side nap & after a few finely selected profanities from the old man, they had settled into a nice conversation. The old man told stories of old & they enjoyed a quick shot of Irish whisky from his flask. As they talked & laughed, he'd noticed a rather flashy streamer pattern stuck on the old mans hat. The "Glitter in the Gold' the old man had called it, "a bonified pig sticker" he'd claimed. After some negotiation, that depleted half the young mans mayfly selection, the old man had reluctantly parted with the fly.
The young man doubted the fly, but they were quickly overshadowed within minutes of roping this thing to the buisness end of some 1x ultra strong invisible cable. In just a few quick cast's, the fly had been hit by an above average Rainbow. The fight was hard & fast, as big Bows are so famous for. His doubts had been layed to rest, he had enjoyed a wonderful afternoon of fishing with lots 'o fish hooked & landed. The fly got battered & tattered, but close attention to his knots & tippet condition ensured the survival of the fly. He took that fly home that night, stuck it in the drift wood above his vise & forgot about it for a while. Until last night, when he'd noticed its mysterious glow once again.
The first few promising runs & pools had produced nothing. The young man became frustrated & his casting & technique fell victim to his angst. "What was wrong" he pondered, "this thing should be rippin' fish!" He decided to walk a bit, to a hole that never let him down. He approached with caution & as he made his way closer on his hands & knees, he noticed a large slender form swaying side to side in rear of the hole. He payed out a little line, began to feed it through the powerful 6wt & layed a decent cast a few feet above the trout. Before the fly hit the water, the fish was gone. It was as if the fish had been fleeing some terrible force. He watched the fish swim in to the heart of the hole & saw many other fish scurry for cover. The big fish had swam over & told his friends of fishing armageddon & sure death.....
The young man sat dumbfounded on the bank above the hole. On occasion, he'd see a fish swim out of the deeper water & eat. "a little spooky today" he thought to himself, "mabye a lil' midgin' will get one". He removed the cable like leader, replaced it with floss like 6x Rio & reached into his bag for the box labled "sprinkles". He knotted up some 7x , decided on a #22 Bloody Mary & added some weight. Still sitting, he rolled a cast about half way up the gut of the hole. He mended the line into a drag free drift & anticipated the strike. The drift had almost run its course when he noticed some movement, saw some flash & began the 1-2-3 count. He lifted the rod & felt the surge of energy take hold. An average fish broke the water & did quite an air dance. A few more antics from the little guy & he brought it to the rivers edge. As he was removing the hook, he noticed a most recent wound in the fish's mouth. A hole about the diameter of a #4 streamer hook. Instantly, the old mans words came to his head. "I love this time of year, & this fly does too", he had said to me, as he so reluctantly handed over the "Glitter in the Gold".....
After a few more passes with no takes, the young man had become all but completely discouraged. He decided to rope up the streamer again, "Mabye I can get one pounding the skinny bank water", he mumbled. He'd made a few doven casts into suspectings lies with no result. He noticed a deep trough, protected by a thick overhanging root system. It looked very promising he thought, but "how the hell was I going to get a cast in there"? He loaded it up & shot an aggressive cast that managed to slither its way in to the snag. He watched as the gold fly sank rapidly. When he had counted down & saw the color disappear, he began the erratic strip routine. On the third strip, the line pulled back with ferocious energy. He tightened his right index finger around the cork, pulled up a little & stepped back quickly. The hook set was solid, but the fish had not yet decided to show itself. He lifted the rod high & the fish finaly rolled on the surface. A good brown was thrashing & rolling in the confines of his dangerously protected hole. The color explosion was awesome & he thought at any moment the heavy leader or knot would give. Without warning the Trout shot like a freight train directly towards him. It ran directly between his legs forcing him to do the two step & at the same time take up the copious amounts of slack line. By the time he thought he had everything under the control, the fish was freight training towards the other side again. The line caught up to the reel & began to rip line out. The reel waqs screaming, hidious cries of pain it did not quite understand. The fish was B-Lining directly for the snag, as it got closer, it broke the water & tailed walked the final few feet into the timber. It bounced & thrashed through the root system & finally splashed back into its lair as the line went limp. The FFisherman stood dumbfounded once agin & his heart raced crazy. What seemed like an hour of utter excitement had taken mere seconds. He noticed, as he reeled in his line, that the fly was gone. He gazed out acroos the water into the snag & noticed the Glitter of a fly dangling from one of the thick limbs. He made his way across to retrieve it, but as he got closer he noticed another one dangling a few fet above his. He removed both of the flies & thought "that old ba**ard, he was here yesterday". Well, that was enough & the young man was satisfied. Even though he hadn't "slayed" as he'd planned, that one bruiser brown was enough to satisfy.
As he wandered back down the bank, he came to the spot where he'd met the old man years earlier. A nice soft grassy bank towered by a majestic ponderosa. He grabbed the second fly & percariously stuck it in the tree trunk hoping the old man would see it & remember the day he lost it. He grabbed the other one, gazed upon its beauty for a moment & threw it to the middle of the river. He thought "mabye some day, just mabye, an adventurous FFisherman would gaze down in the crystal clear water & notice the "Glitter in the Gold"
Peace
He poured a cup & made his way into the garage. His gear had been arranged the night before also & all that was nessecerry, was to reassure it was all there & into the truck it went. His old "pre wetted" boots were next, followed by the dog & his beloved 6wt. He made his way back inside. He could here his wife stirring in the bedroom above & decided to let here make her way downstairs to say goodbye.
As he waited, he drifted off to remember the last FFishing trip he had made. It had been mid fall, nearly 5 months ago. That was the last time that his hectic schedule had allowed him a free day. His brother had arranged some terrestrial FFishing on a section of private water in SW Montana. He'd made the four hour drive from the city to meet his brother the night before. At the reserved Ranch guest house, his brother was waiting with a token bottle of the Glenlevit, a sixer of Sweet Grass, & his famous travel Humidor. The night was filled with laughter & stories of past excursions. The scotch dropped like butter & soon, they were both ready to retire. The next day was filled with some extraordinary fall angling. The water was theirs & theirs alone & the fish were eager to swim a rods length to envelop their sticky super sized creations. They both went through their entire hopper box trying to find a fly that these fish wouldn't eat. From #24 green ahphids to #2/0-L Green Caddydids, the fish rose & attacked with reckless abandon. At the end of the day, They were sunburned & exhausted, but wearing smiles the reached from sea to shining sea. Good fishing for sure & no one better to enjoy it with!
"Honey....., HONEY"....., He was startled to attention by his wifes plea's. "You were really daydreaming there, are you alright", she asked. "Better than all right!" he replied. That said, they said their goobye's, & he was out the door & down the road.
The wildlife was abundant as he drove deeper & deeper through the forest. His venue today was nothing new, he'd made this drive for many years. His brother had shown him the spot many years earlier, & he'd promised to keep this special place "secret". It was a little further down the road than most FFisherman were willing to go, but well worth the effort & extra miles. He arrived just as the sun decided to peek its sleepy head over the tall granite peaks. As he stepped out into the morning, he was quick to notice that the air up here was a wee bit nippy, more so than back home. He quickly slipped his waders on & strung his rod. He'd packed his weathered 6 wt today. With the higher spring flows, & a plan of chucking "MEAT", the 6wt would be optimal.
The night before he'd tied two lovely creations, a pattern that he'd been shown years earlier by a colorful older gentleman. He'd startled the old man from a bank side nap & after a few finely selected profanities from the old man, they had settled into a nice conversation. The old man told stories of old & they enjoyed a quick shot of Irish whisky from his flask. As they talked & laughed, he'd noticed a rather flashy streamer pattern stuck on the old mans hat. The "Glitter in the Gold' the old man had called it, "a bonified pig sticker" he'd claimed. After some negotiation, that depleted half the young mans mayfly selection, the old man had reluctantly parted with the fly.
The young man doubted the fly, but they were quickly overshadowed within minutes of roping this thing to the buisness end of some 1x ultra strong invisible cable. In just a few quick cast's, the fly had been hit by an above average Rainbow. The fight was hard & fast, as big Bows are so famous for. His doubts had been layed to rest, he had enjoyed a wonderful afternoon of fishing with lots 'o fish hooked & landed. The fly got battered & tattered, but close attention to his knots & tippet condition ensured the survival of the fly. He took that fly home that night, stuck it in the drift wood above his vise & forgot about it for a while. Until last night, when he'd noticed its mysterious glow once again.
The first few promising runs & pools had produced nothing. The young man became frustrated & his casting & technique fell victim to his angst. "What was wrong" he pondered, "this thing should be rippin' fish!" He decided to walk a bit, to a hole that never let him down. He approached with caution & as he made his way closer on his hands & knees, he noticed a large slender form swaying side to side in rear of the hole. He payed out a little line, began to feed it through the powerful 6wt & layed a decent cast a few feet above the trout. Before the fly hit the water, the fish was gone. It was as if the fish had been fleeing some terrible force. He watched the fish swim in to the heart of the hole & saw many other fish scurry for cover. The big fish had swam over & told his friends of fishing armageddon & sure death.....
The young man sat dumbfounded on the bank above the hole. On occasion, he'd see a fish swim out of the deeper water & eat. "a little spooky today" he thought to himself, "mabye a lil' midgin' will get one". He removed the cable like leader, replaced it with floss like 6x Rio & reached into his bag for the box labled "sprinkles". He knotted up some 7x , decided on a #22 Bloody Mary & added some weight. Still sitting, he rolled a cast about half way up the gut of the hole. He mended the line into a drag free drift & anticipated the strike. The drift had almost run its course when he noticed some movement, saw some flash & began the 1-2-3 count. He lifted the rod & felt the surge of energy take hold. An average fish broke the water & did quite an air dance. A few more antics from the little guy & he brought it to the rivers edge. As he was removing the hook, he noticed a most recent wound in the fish's mouth. A hole about the diameter of a #4 streamer hook. Instantly, the old mans words came to his head. "I love this time of year, & this fly does too", he had said to me, as he so reluctantly handed over the "Glitter in the Gold".....
After a few more passes with no takes, the young man had become all but completely discouraged. He decided to rope up the streamer again, "Mabye I can get one pounding the skinny bank water", he mumbled. He'd made a few doven casts into suspectings lies with no result. He noticed a deep trough, protected by a thick overhanging root system. It looked very promising he thought, but "how the hell was I going to get a cast in there"? He loaded it up & shot an aggressive cast that managed to slither its way in to the snag. He watched as the gold fly sank rapidly. When he had counted down & saw the color disappear, he began the erratic strip routine. On the third strip, the line pulled back with ferocious energy. He tightened his right index finger around the cork, pulled up a little & stepped back quickly. The hook set was solid, but the fish had not yet decided to show itself. He lifted the rod high & the fish finaly rolled on the surface. A good brown was thrashing & rolling in the confines of his dangerously protected hole. The color explosion was awesome & he thought at any moment the heavy leader or knot would give. Without warning the Trout shot like a freight train directly towards him. It ran directly between his legs forcing him to do the two step & at the same time take up the copious amounts of slack line. By the time he thought he had everything under the control, the fish was freight training towards the other side again. The line caught up to the reel & began to rip line out. The reel waqs screaming, hidious cries of pain it did not quite understand. The fish was B-Lining directly for the snag, as it got closer, it broke the water & tailed walked the final few feet into the timber. It bounced & thrashed through the root system & finally splashed back into its lair as the line went limp. The FFisherman stood dumbfounded once agin & his heart raced crazy. What seemed like an hour of utter excitement had taken mere seconds. He noticed, as he reeled in his line, that the fly was gone. He gazed out acroos the water into the snag & noticed the Glitter of a fly dangling from one of the thick limbs. He made his way across to retrieve it, but as he got closer he noticed another one dangling a few fet above his. He removed both of the flies & thought "that old ba**ard, he was here yesterday". Well, that was enough & the young man was satisfied. Even though he hadn't "slayed" as he'd planned, that one bruiser brown was enough to satisfy.
As he wandered back down the bank, he came to the spot where he'd met the old man years earlier. A nice soft grassy bank towered by a majestic ponderosa. He grabbed the second fly & percariously stuck it in the tree trunk hoping the old man would see it & remember the day he lost it. He grabbed the other one, gazed upon its beauty for a moment & threw it to the middle of the river. He thought "mabye some day, just mabye, an adventurous FFisherman would gaze down in the crystal clear water & notice the "Glitter in the Gold"
Peace