Most Memorable Outing

When I stop to consider the most memorable outing I’ve had over the past 40 years, I realize that I’m not in the action.

That’s not to say that I haven’t had any memorable experiences. There have been a few. Take the time, for example, that I caught the Brown Drakes perfectly, early one June, at the foot of Thendara Road on the Au Sable’s “holy water”. It only lasted about 30 minutes, but what a thrill it was to have twelve to fifteen fish rhythmically feeding all within easy casting distance. Then, just as if someone blew a whistle, everything stopped at once. Incredible.

A twenty-seven inch brown trout at night on a mouse is pretty amazing.Mousin' Brownie: This 27-inch brown would have been more memorable if I hadn't been the one to catch it. And, so too, was my first fall-run, reel-screaming, tail-walking steelhead on a streamer. I’ve had a few memories on the stream.

But, when the fish is subdued, and it’s time to play photo-journalist and capture the memory, the results are generally, well . . . less than memorable: A fish, on a net, next to a fly rod. Pretty boring. No, even when I look back over the albums of photos, I can’t seem to re-capture the excitement. As I said earlier, the real joy seems to come only when I’m NOT in the action.

Far more memorable for me is the time my son-in-law (on his very first hex outing) unexpectedly hooked into a two-foot brown trout. The hex spinner fall was a bust that evening, so I suggested he practice his technique on a nearby “dink” that was showing a splashy rise from time to time. I moved upstream about fifteen yards, to do the same.

After about his third cast, he gets a take, and nonchalantly calls over to me “Got one . . . (then in a higher octave) . . . It’s a GOOD one! . . . (then, in yet a higher octave) . . . It’s HUGE! It’s HUGE!”

What happens to the human brain when suddenly thrust into a life altering event? In this case, it froze. And, so too did his left hand as he palmed the reel to a screeching halt!
Do you have any idea how LOUD it sounds when eight pound test fluorocarbon snaps? If memory serves me well, it is somewhere between a .280 caliber deer rifle, and a 30-06.
It’s loud!

Do have any idea how quiet a car ride home can be?

And, just so that you don’t think I’m exaggerating on the size of that fish, immediately after breaking off, it rolled on the surface in front of my son-in-law, trying to dislodge the fly. Then, a few moments later, as he worked his way upstream, he rolled directly in front of me. Even in the partial light between dusk and dark, the size of that “hawg” was evident.

That memory is as vivid today as it was when it happened. Mostly, because there are two fishermen to feed and water it. The take-home message for me is clear: To make memories that last, don’t try to make memories on your own. Take someone along.