Monday, August 12, 2013
Last year during our annual Okie Exodus to Estes Park, I managed to finish out my four-species trout slam (through the barest of technical definitions) by catching a single brook trout that some might consider a bit, uh...smallish. How smallish? Well, smallish enough that I actually didn't realize I had caught a fish until the damn thing came rocketing out of the water on my backcast and zoomed past my head into the shrubbery behind me. And bear in mind, I was using a three-weight. A tiny three-weight.
I found the poor little bastard hanging six feet up in the bushes, so I unhooked him, measured him against my pinkie finger trophy mark, snapped a quick picture for verification purposes, put him back in the water, declared flyfishing victory (quietly, and with an admirably straight face...), then got the hell out of there as quickly as possible in case anyone had been watching me.
So this year I was striving to complete the brookie part of my slam with a little more dignity, a lot more grace, and hopefully with a fish that could at least be measured in inches rather than grams.
Mission accomplished. Still small, but at least he stayed in the water when I set the hook. But just like last year, this was the only brookie I caught, mainly because I kept catching mostly native cuttthroats in the creek where I was supposed to be catching mostly invasive brook trout. Native pests. Here are my thoughts on those vermin... They should just get rid of those damn things so the brook trout can have a chance to flourish**...
* Please don't sue me, John Gierach.
** I kid, I kid...
Posted by Chad Love at 9:46 AM