The Vanities

Trout Whisperer

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  • Prostaff Member Trout Whisperer

Some of you can guess at my age and from that glean the fact that I have actively fished for better than forty years. Encased in those years for me and perhaps yourselves as well was not just the hope of knowing that a large fish was more than possibly in your mind but as I, you KNEW it really existed in the depths of some lake.

So That if the time and the space continuum of me being in the precise place at the specific time, then and only then, that my day dream of finned flesh would go from a mental want, to material wall hanging.

I sough the fish in magazines, movies and others photos. Saw it mounted at bait shops. I even lost one or two of them over the years when my stomach went sea seasick at the snapped line or fish flipped hook. And to quote John Wayne, you were close mister, Close, but no cigar.

Well from under the ice comes the strike that I have felt before. It's a solid fish. No need to shake myself silly. I had been in this hot seat before. It fought hard and ripped line. It tugged and tussled. Then when I figured this big under water bruiser had had enough, I cranked the drag and started reeling. Then the fish hit the burners and it was game on. That's when I started to shake my self silly.

This went on for quite sometime and finally, looking like a marble being pulled through a straw it came nose first up the gas augured hole looking like the freshwater silver sided version of Moby dick.

Okay, so literally in my arms, is the fish. The air is cold so my eyes are watering. In mere seconds I have to put the fish forever on my wall or in a blink, back into the water. I have no camera, no mortal witness. It's me and the fish, and rather ironic because after all the years of daydreaming, that's pretty much how it played out. it slides away. Its gone under, to the wherever.

Well it's happened and I somehow just want to hold it again or go back and point to all my buddies that from under the ice right there, in that exact spot, that's where I hooked the fish. Like some miniature igloo will give credence to what happened on just one cold winter day with me and a fish. A fish that heard me utter how gorgeous looking, and holy you know what, to how big it was.

The glory of catching it will be forever mine. I have it stored away, and with it being so fresh and all, I play the metal tape over and over. I know I have worn many an ear thread bear in the telling and to not have a photo or someone else there is frustrating. I guess in the end, just like so many years ago at the beginning, it's the fish I can't ever get enough of.

Posted by Trout Whisperer under Hunting Stories on February 11, 10 08:37 AM | Permalink

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