This sort of thing does not happen often. Might have been
the first time.
I am about ready to tie on a new RS2 nymph as a dropper to Greg’s caddis
emerger. We are on the South Platte’s Dream Stream. The
fish are large and picky. Flows are up. The fish have virtually ignored a thick
trico hatch. No response. Only a few fish were put in the net and those came by
nymphing. A few lost opportunities.
After a snag, with a certain level of desperation, I ask Greg, “Do you want me to tie this RS2 dropper
on with 5x or 6x fluorocarbon tippet.?” (At this point I am thinking it would be nice
to just hook up even if we break off). He considered the question and made his
choice. “Lets be daring, use 6x”. I hesitantly agreed but immediately had this
little story play out in my mind and shared it. “Greg, I just had this little
story play out in my mind. You are going
to hook a large fish on the caddis on the 5X. We are going to be playing out
this fish and then the caddis is going to slip out of his mouth and we are
going to re-hook the fish on the RS2. We are then going to be in a tough
situation and I will feel a bit guilty wondering if I should have ever dared to
tie it on with 6x in these waters with big fish. Not sure what is going to
happen after that. You finish the story.”
Not sure Greg took my little story seriously. Not sure I did
either. At times in life we might get impressions of things that might occur; Glimpses covered
in mystery rather than conviction. With out any more discussion or thought, I
tied the new rig, 5X to the caddis and 6X to the size 24 RS2. And we were
casting and drifting again looking for fish in the Dream Stream's meanders.
We make our choices in life and we have to live with them
and by them. The choice had been made. I made my choice. Greg made his.
It was about ¾ mile above the Weir, above the Charlie Myers
parking area when the large fish rolled on the caddis emerger. Greg gently
struck remembering the light tippet and the fish was on. The fish rolled again
showing its deep bodied side. We knew we were in for a battle. Excitement
filled our hearts as distant storm clouds starting rolling in from the collegiate
peaks and flashed lightning.
Greg knew what to do but seeing the size of this fish, I
yelled the commands anyway. “Get on the bank and move with this fish, you will
have to land him down stream. It’s our only chance. Do not rush this fish. Do not try to pull him back up river against these currents. Move with the fish”.
The fish surged down stream with the heavy currents. The
fish knew how to use the heavy water to his advantage. Again and again the fish
rolled and turned showing us its size and strength. Several times we temporarily got the angle on
the fish and worked the fish in toward some calmer water on the edge of the
bank. Several times I was ready with my 4 foot long net handle only to see the fish turn again and surge down
stream. All I could yell was, “Let go,
let go, let him run”. A guides famous
last words.
The battle went on for a quarter mile and then a half mile.
Greg had been wet wading and now lost one of his sandals in the muck. Now he is
chasing the fish with only one sandal over the willows and rocks. In the chase I
thought about the Greek story of Jason in pursuit of the golden fleece and how
it was prophesied that the chosen one would appear with only one sandal. I am
brought back to the river and the chase as Greg yells something about his toe
being broken but neither of us stops in our pursuit. We could deal with his
battle wounds later.
Finally we had the fish on the edge of the bank. Tired, I
saw our chance. And then it happened. As I reach the net into the water the
caddis slipped from his mouth and for a moment I thought we had lost the fish
only to see that we re-hooked the fish with the RS2. I was so caught up in this
pursuit, I had no recollection of the
story I had told Greg 20 minutes earlier. The fish again surged down the river
as though its taste of its freedom revived the fish’s instincts. We all knew (and perhaps the fish also) we
were connected to this fish with only a 3 pound test connection that had been
strained, and stretched to a mere thread and our point of contact was a size 24 hook.
Again we chased. Again the fish surged. Again we pursued
trying to stay sideways of the fish. Finally, another calm area. We had our
chance again. Would the 6X tippet hold?
We were tired. Greg makes a choice to put pressure on the fish to drag him toward the
net. I make a choice to lunge at the fish with my long-handled net.
I hear a blast of thunder. Dark ominous clouds over head.
Lightning flashes. Time to get out of here.
We are covered in mystery and the choices we make. It is all
part of our life story that we all must help finish. .
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