I went trout fishing earlier today. Using my 3 wt. Reddington Leaf Snatcher with a weight forward floating line , a tapered leader, a 7x tippet and a size 18 Griffin's Gnat. Tossing gently into a small pocket of water , I had a subtle , almost imperceptible take after a short drift through a fishy looking stretch just below the pocket. Upon setting the hook , my line drew taught , my drag started to scream , and I felt a heavy , almost dead weight as my heart inched into my throat at the prospect of breaking my months long fishless streak....
I knew I was in trouble when the trout broke water and I saw that his dorsal fin was four feet tall and twice again as long. As the epic battle raged on, I realized I was about 400 yards into the backing on my Orvis Mach 5 reel, which was, coincidentally, the speed at which the trout was now heading downstream , hell bent for leather. As he broke the sound barrier, the grease and 3-in-1 oil in my reel caught fire, burning my hand as I desperately tried to turn him , using my palm as a brake on the spool's lip , the drag washers having long since melted during the fish's initial run.
All of a sudden, what line I had left began to sizzle and pop from the heat of the fire and started to turn a crisp brown color , usually only seen before it turns black and brittle. Thinking fast , I dove headfirst into a deep spot midstream , extinguishing the fire , but also causing my line to go slack. My heart sank like a well placed drum rig off the end of a pier.
Emerging from the pool bruised and battered , I began wandering downstream in defeat , contemplating what to do next. As my mind tossed around ideas about leaders , flies , and flameproof grease , I was shocked to see the battle weary trout beached atop a beaver damn....
Surrounded as he was by four grizzly bears, two coyotes, and a scrappy looking cat, I nearly gave up hope of claiming my trophy. Until I remembered the hemostats and surgical scissors I "borrowed" the last time Doctor Brown had to pull a hook from my shoulder after a bad back cast. I waded into the fray armed to the gills with my filet knife clenched between my teeth like I'd seen in the movies ,and a stolen surgical instrument in each hand.
Grizzlies make a sound not unlike an underwater air raid siren when you have the frenulum of their upper lip clamped in a pair of hemostats , and it's easier than you might think to dispose of a pair of coyotes with a sharp pair of scissors. There may indeed be more than one way to skin a cat , but trust me when I say it's no fun to practice on one that runs in a pack with coyotes and grizzly bears.
It must have been the smell of blood from the nasty cuts on my tongue and lips , caused by the all but forgotten filet knife. Or it could have been my yodel-like screams as I wrestled with the fourth and final bear. All I know is that it is a bad idea , quite a bad idea indeed , to disturb two usually peaceful dam builders that don't like to be surprised in the presence of their offspring , because the last thing I remember was the sound of a beaver whistling through his teeth and two angry slaps of a too-wide tail on top of the water....I'm thinking I'll stick to hamburger until the surf fishing picks back up!
Cabin fever is in full swing hereabouts! Have a great week , my friends!