Madison Brown
July 12, 2009 will be etched in my memory a long time. Where do I even begin to tell this story?
Wading and “mousing” one of my home waters, 10:30pm to 12:15am: Not a single hit, or noise, until the top end of a promising pool. Using a small deer hair popper mouse, I had just moved into my next casting position, and gave it the customary 30-second countdown, before starting to cast. I let the mouse dangle downstream about 8 feet out from the near bank . . . maybe 3 rod lengths downstream, making a gentle wake.
About 25 seconds into my countdown, the stationery mouse was engulfed in an explosive boil. I set the hook and the race was on. Whatever it was, headed straight downstream, peeling line off my "stiff" drag, like I had no drag at all. I couldn't believe how much line it took so 
No Match for Madison Brownquickly. So, I started palming the reel to add more drag, slowing the fish a bunch, but not entirely. The 7-weight rod, was doubled over. Taking my left hand away from the reel, and using my chest to “palm” the rim, I quickly turned on my headlamp. That was the opening he was looking for. Off he goes again. Now, he's into the BACKING.
He peeled off some 40 or 50 feet of backing, as I continued applying as much pressure as I thought I could without breaking my 12-pound-test tippet. My headlamp is on. In the dense fog, all I could see was my yellow fly line backing disappearing into the misty haze of nothingness. As long as I palmed the reel, I could hold the strain, and nothing broke. Ease up on the palming, and he was stripping line again. Now at a standstill, feeling his "headshakes", all went SLACK. Where’s the break-off? At the mouse? Reeling in the slack line, I still had my mouse, but the hook had straightened out.
Over the years of mousing, I have caught many browns in the low to mid twenties. My largest to date, is a 27-inch behemoth. With 12-pound tippet and a stout drag, I have NEVER had a brown take me into my backing. This was NOT a two-foot fish. It must have been one of those HUGE (30-inch) browns that you hear people talk about, but dismiss as either a romantic legend or wishful thinking. The only difference this time, is that I’m the one telling the story. What a thrill. What a thrill.
Note: Have you ever heard the ballad, called “Madison Brown,” by Winship, Thompson & Lowell?
I finished out the pool, then went to another favorite run. Waded and fished until 2:15am, without any other action. All was quiet. Stars were out. Plenty of fog on the river. A night to remember. Life is good.
There are now new “rules of engagement.” I’m upping the tippet to 15 pounds, and re-tying some of my favorite patterns on stouter hooks. I’m even considering an 8-weight rod.
I'm gonna get that boy! . . . someday.
