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not crappie, but some of you may enjoy my trout story
Redemption sought, reverence found”
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As I sat by the stream, I was entranced by the tranquil sounds of passing waters. The calmness of a Sunday morning was felt bone deep, even to the spirit. Watching butterflies gently wafting down the stream as if they were set on a divine course...It caused me to ponder the plan of creation...and despite the sadness, pain and loss we endure, there was still gladness. As I watched the robins and blue jays, I was reminded of the graciousness of our Creator. I thanked Him for companionship and the fellowship we share. I was thankful that the provision that had been made for the birds was also from the same hand that had gave mine. I was humbled that as insignificant as I seemed to the vastness of creation that I was able to touch, see, hear, smell, and taste this goodness. I removed the fly rod from the tattered case and I struggled to string up the line and tie the fly. It had been too long since I had last held the old 4 weight...in a short time, my right hand went numb and I second guessed my decision to put off the surgery again. My mind wandered to adolescence and the sage warnings of my mentor regarding the brevity of youthful endurance and keen eyesight. The thoughts of catching the old brown haunting the deep pool recaptured my imagination...the cast was well placed, the nymph hit the seam...I mended the line, a good drift I thought to myself. I felt a quick tick and swiftly set the hook only to realize the eager fish was not the old brown. After a valiant effort the brightly colored rainbow was netted and admired. I reluctantly decided to cut off the nymph and tie on a black wooly bugger. I surmised the swift, stained water made the bugger a better choice and I asked myself why I hadn’t tied it on to start with. The first cast confirmed the big black bug, half way thru the run a solid take..a voracious brook trout belied his size and dug hard. After a short sprint to the tail out he succumbed to the pressure of the bent rod and came to hand. I paused and shook the right hand as if it would magically make the feeling return again. I had two of the three, I only needed the old brown to make the slam. I knew time favored my quarry due to my condition. I had to make each cast count...not an occasion to be lackadaisical. I persisted and managed to find a small brownie near the tail out as I stripped the bugger. I felt grateful to get the slam, but it was somewhat bittersweet as I had hoped the old bruiser would give me the redemption I was seeking. I would return in the evening, I thought. I had convinced myself, if no one else, that I would put the net under him. I could see it in my mind’s eye, the big tail was hanging over the net...the big smile and exhilaration of hoisting a trophy fish...and my buddy holding the camera, admiring my trophy. I would return, mused the fisherman...A quick lunch and lengthy nap awaited me at the camp. Upon awakening, my thoughts quickly returned to my unseen foe. My mind was ready, but knowing my limitations, I had to be patient. I felt the odds would be in my favor if I could wait until late in the day...I told myself. After a brief spat of rain, the conditions and timing were lining up. Time had moved slowly, like Christmas Eve when we were young...Time had already stolen the agility of my youth and was dimming my eyes, while Uncle Sam had done his part on my hearing and knees. However, I was still determined that time would not be allowed to steal this moment. As I waded upstream, I couldn’t help myself and stopped before my objective. I made my cast toward the far bank, the bug passed underneath the overhanging tree limbs and despite a good drift was not taken. A second cast missed the slack water and was quickly swept into the run, where a young rainbow was eagerly awaiting his evening meal and obliged the angler. Realizing the limited number of casts I could make, I waded further upstream. Slowly approaching, I angled toward the near bank. I made several cast in the run before deciding to try the deep pool. The water was murkier due to the afternoon rain...he would be in the depths of the slack pool, I thought. After making several less than stellar casts, I inched upstream. Finally, I cast towards the overhanging limbs at the top of the pool...a good cast, I said. Be patient, let it get deep...let it go, let it go...that’s where he is...THUD, IT’S HIM!!! Slowly he swam away from the pressure of the lifted, bent rod...the drag was giving ground. Oh yeah, this is the big one...my heart was pounding, I shouted to my old friend who had meandered further upstream...I got HIM!!! The drag was the only thing saving the bent over rod...another strong run toward the top of the pool and instantly the line went slack. The big brown had won the fight and his freedom, I went from elation to dejection in a mere second. There was no one to blame, I didn’t horse him or anything stupid...I played it right but still lost the prized fish. I can live with that, and as time passes, that fish will be a memory I will recall with fondness...much longer than many that I’ve caught. I never saw him, so he can be as big as my imagination allows...and reverence not redemption is the story I will tell my grand kids the next time we go to “water”.
