Revive - A Quarterly Fly Fishing Journal - Page 132

I had demoted myself to the back of the boat and picked up a buddy’s rod and took post. One day past a new moon, overcast, shortly succeeding a light rain. Temperatures in mid 60s. My buddy’s rod was (and remains) one of the larger travesties in fly fishing. A rod that might load with good line that was loaded with not good line on a plastic reel. The reel was made of plastic. So I backhanded a baitfish pattern upstream and gave it one or two strips and it didn’t sink at all but apparently that doesn’t matter. I can count to you and fully describe the fish that I’ve seen turn broadside at the surface to take a streamer, there are 3 of them, and this is the third. I could count the stripes, I saw all 26 inches of dark lateral lines and a large head and a broad tail and before I could say anything my fly line was gone and Dacron was sliding through my fingertips at a pace I couldn’t slow. It felt like eternity before he stopped and when he did he stopped with full force and acted as if he would never move for the remainder of his existence. So I stood with my line firmly planted to this being for an eternity slightly shorter than the previous one and then he turned. And he turned quickly and picked up speed ran to the boat and my plastic reel picked up a few feet of line every few eternities or so but that was not enough.