Sunday, March 7, 2010

A Foggy Wednesday

My alarm goes off at 5:30 in the morning. I am not in the comfort of my own bed, yet I am still strangely comfortable. The camp at this hour is still dark, and with the overnight fire gone, the air is crisp. The kettle slips on to the just lit burner and the water on it's bottom hisses. Within minutes i am on the front deck, a steaming cup of tea in my hand. The sky is just warming with some light, but the air is damp, and foggy. We have been in since Sunday, and every day has been the same. Today appears to offer nothing different.

It had not been my best trip so far. In 2 full days of fishing, i caught one fish. A 10 inch monster whose catch and release took 30 seconds of my time. I saw many. I had spread fly over the water and was rewarded with moving fish. I just couldn't catch them. While Steven and Derrick were at another lake getting fish each day, my stubborn side kept me at the small lake. Looking for that elusive "lurker" i saw move the first morning in the water. My tunnel vision has taken over.

I arrive at my canoe and look over at the far shore. There is a slight breeze from the diagonal at the shore. Like Tuesday, I release fly and let the breeze take them to the shore. Nothing. I do it again. This time a nice trout moves. Not a "lurker" but a good fish. I cast and my fly lands a foot shy. I leave it and the trout takes. I miss it, and it is gone. Those seven words have been my week. I paddle to shore, and as I am about to get out and head for the camp, I decide to reload with fly and try once more.

My fly make it to shore untouched. The breeze takes them along the shoreline past the white crown land marker. As it does, a raise. Then another. Then two more. I cast into the middle of it. It seems it is another small fish but right now I'll take it. The fish takes my fly and to my surprise, my rod bends heavily as i set the hook. The size of a fish while it is in the water is hard to guess. All I know is it is the largest trout I have ever had hooked. It's tail breaks the surface and sends water flashing to the rocks. It goes deep again and takes line from the reel. As it gets close to the boat it nears the surface. It is huge. It's belly is dark red, and the fins a stark white edged in black.

In the end, 17.5 inches and about 3 pounds of native Brook Trout. A prize any angler would be proud of. Amongst the small talk at the camp in the evenings are the stories of the one that got away and the one that you will hook tomorrow. On this night, my glass of rum warmed me a little better. The foggy morning that did not impress me when i awoke, was the sky i hoped for the next day. After three days of fishing i had caught two trout. One 10 inch monster that took 30 seconds to land, and one a little bit bigger. I couldn't have been happier.

1 comment:

Wink said...

Very evocative! Beautifully felt and described. You're not "Stillwaters" are you?