Last week I made my annual pilgrimage to a small lake in Central Oregon. I've been going there for about 10 years now every September. It's great to be in this Cascades after Labor Day because the tourist population is gone and the weather usually holds up for another month.
I had a goal. There are some beautifully colored Brook trout in this lake and while I have no problem with catching (and releasing) a Rainbow trout, the opportunity to catch a Brookie with Fall spawning colors often eludes me. I charged up the battery on the little digital camera that fits nicely into the pocket of my favorite fishing shirt and promptly forgot to put in in place the morning I drove the 18 miles up into the mountains from our rented guest house in Central Oregon. The thought hit me just as I was negotiating the last mile of the horrible washboarded dirt road that dead ends at the lake. What's the worse that could happen? I kept asking myself. I could catch (and release) a beautiful brook trout and have no photo. Just the picture of those blue greens and red oranges...the pink and red spots...the muted aquas and blacks. Just catching the fish would have to be enough. So, as luck would have it, that is precisely what happened.
When you fly fish out of a float tube, as I do, hooking a fish is a real adrenaline rush. So much of the time is peaceful and contemplative that that sudden tug on the line really gets the blood pumping. Then the game begins. Keep the line tight and try not to rush the retrieval. Fly fishers often lose fish. They come "unbuttoned." So when the time comes to reach for the net and complete the entire process of catching a fish, you never know what is on the end of the line. Even rather small fish can but a bend in the rod right before they come to the net.
So...when those gorgeous colors surface of the water and I realized I'd fooled a nice brookie, I realized the worse case scenario had come to fruition. Nice fish, no camera. I carefully revived the fish and took an extra long look before he/she swam back to the depths of the lake.
Maybe there is something of good fortune that things turned out this way. I'm forced to keep the image alive through my imagination. Fishermen of all stripes have a size problem. As the years pass, the fish seem to grow in length. I will try not to let that happen, because it's all about the colors, not the inches. I will say this fish was between 12-14 inches long and had teeth! Look at those colors in the graphics I've attached here, and know that they pop even more when you see them a foot or two from your face.
I had a goal. There are some beautifully colored Brook trout in this lake and while I have no problem with catching (and releasing) a Rainbow trout, the opportunity to catch a Brookie with Fall spawning colors often eludes me. I charged up the battery on the little digital camera that fits nicely into the pocket of my favorite fishing shirt and promptly forgot to put in in place the morning I drove the 18 miles up into the mountains from our rented guest house in Central Oregon. The thought hit me just as I was negotiating the last mile of the horrible washboarded dirt road that dead ends at the lake. What's the worse that could happen? I kept asking myself. I could catch (and release) a beautiful brook trout and have no photo. Just the picture of those blue greens and red oranges...the pink and red spots...the muted aquas and blacks. Just catching the fish would have to be enough. So, as luck would have it, that is precisely what happened.
When you fly fish out of a float tube, as I do, hooking a fish is a real adrenaline rush. So much of the time is peaceful and contemplative that that sudden tug on the line really gets the blood pumping. Then the game begins. Keep the line tight and try not to rush the retrieval. Fly fishers often lose fish. They come "unbuttoned." So when the time comes to reach for the net and complete the entire process of catching a fish, you never know what is on the end of the line. Even rather small fish can but a bend in the rod right before they come to the net.
So...when those gorgeous colors surface of the water and I realized I'd fooled a nice brookie, I realized the worse case scenario had come to fruition. Nice fish, no camera. I carefully revived the fish and took an extra long look before he/she swam back to the depths of the lake.
Maybe there is something of good fortune that things turned out this way. I'm forced to keep the image alive through my imagination. Fishermen of all stripes have a size problem. As the years pass, the fish seem to grow in length. I will try not to let that happen, because it's all about the colors, not the inches. I will say this fish was between 12-14 inches long and had teeth! Look at those colors in the graphics I've attached here, and know that they pop even more when you see them a foot or two from your face.
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