October 14, 2010 First off I will not tell where I caught this fish. It could be millions of different places; ok hundreds; you are left to speculate. Second off, the photo bold face lies about this fish. It is at least 3 times longer than it looks! Ok it’s a lot fatter than it looks--no exaggeration.
This is one of those days that we were completely on fire. It is one of those days where you just keep hooking up, fish after fish to the point of disgusting. Johnny and I know this hole, we have learned it, and earned it. We have fished it in all types of flows, raging to painfully slow; winter, hot, cold, spring, fall you name it. We have been schooled so many times by these fish in this hole; we have seen then swimming on the bottom laughing at us, mooching us, taunting us, making us want to never come back to their school again. But today was not that day. To be honest, I don’t think it was really anything special we did, no special voodoo, we were just there on the right day (and we know that hole). Hooking big fish is the hardest part of catching fish like this, but you still have to “bring down the bull with a string.”
The thing is, the more big fish you are catching, the more relaxed you get, and you are not all that concerned if you land them. Catching big fish helps you get into the groove. We were playing a game we call “Baseball” where one guy gets three good casts in the hole then he’s out. We usually go a lot more casts than three, but you get the idea. It’s actually nice to be the guy watching, you learn, change up flies, and it kind of forces me to chill out a bit. We are catching so many fish today, that when one guy hooks up, the other guy yells, “Get out of the hole, go down.” Down river is great, giving us a big advantage since the water level goes shallow, and big browns want to take you deep, especially where there are branches so they can wrap and break you off.
Johnny has one on, and heads down river, letting me into the hole. My first cast, I have a Copper John and a small hare’s ear nymph on. I'm high sticking with no indicator on, bouncing it just above the bottom. The line stops, I set the hook, and this thing almost feels like a snag, except that it starts moving up river. Butterflys flutter in my stomach. I don’t want to say anything out loud because we are catching big fish, and this one is probably just one of those. But this feels like something totally different, not at all like what I have been catching.
Classic brown, he goes down, and wants to find something on the bottom. I step out of the hole, so I can move, and keep leverage. This guy just runs on my up river, taking me deep into my backing, and with total ease. I want to tighten my drag because it feels like he is just having his way with me. I fight the temptation, well mostly, I tighten it one click, almost nothing. I just keep doing what I know I should do, I don’t let him have one second to get the edge. I move with him, and the second he’s done running I start bring him in. I have lost too many fish like this, and it’s usually one of two things: one I let them take me down into areas where they can break off like logs and such, and two letting them run un checked. I also don’t want to horse him, in fear of breaking off, but better than then letting him have leverage. When you are fighting a really big fish, the game is a delicate line between letting them run un-checked, and getting impatient.
At this point Johnny is interested, and not yelling for me to get out of the hole. He can see just by how much this fish has ran, that its worth watching, and helping me net it. I still have not seen this fish, not even close, he stays deep. This one really has me excited, I just know by the sheer weight that this one may be the biggest fish I have ever had on.
This is “battle royal” and I’m throwing all I have at this guy. I think the principal thing in my favor really is all the other big fish I warmed up on, and losing a few. Actually losing a couple, specifically, is the best thing I have done to prep myself for this beast. I am taking care not to do stupid things. I’m moving on the banks, working the angle, keeping constant pressure on him, not letting him have one second to beat me. I know he is waiting for that one little thing, either playing him too hard, or letting him run too free, and pop off he goes—worst of all I still have not seen him. He flat out runs, runs with my line like the drag was not even set at all. He runs so far, so fast he goes around a corner. I am keeping up with him, and I am keeping the line tight. I don’t know if I am having fun, scared to death, caught in fear of losing him or what, the moment is just happening. He is seeking a big clump of dead logs, covered with moss, branches—the ideal place for him to end the fight, leaving me a blubbering, sobbing beaten man.
Not today, this fish will not elude me, I will see what he looks like. Johnny jumps into the mossy pile, and finds my line, while I hold it high so he can get a handle on it. “You still got him,” he yells. He tries to net him. He can’t get him in the net, not because the fish still has fight, no its because he is too big for his net. He picks the fish up “My God he looks like a dinosaur,” Johnny exclaims. We could not get both hands around him. He is indeed the biggest trout I have ever caught.
It's not about how big it is, it’s not about catching the biggest fish; but it is. It’s just one of those experiences that burn inside my memory, swimming with some amazing emotion. If you don’t fish, you just say, “oh cool, big fish, whatever.” But if you fish, you get what it’s like to go through the whole event, start to finish, and come out on top. The older I get, the less competitive I feel, I am losing that feeling of saying “ha I beat you.” But catching this fish brings that out. It’s not saying it to the fish, for God sake, the fish just wants to be back in the water, to swim back to its hole; and that’s exactly what he did. I worked him up and back in the mossy pool for a long time, to let him get some rest, and it was nice just to look at the thing. I cook pleanty that I hook, but not this one; no way.
