Should it be possible to describe a fish as possessing class that distinction must certainly go to the trout. Those that hunt them can’t help but note that trout live in places as wild and beautiful as they. Their lives are spent in cunning guile in prey of food and avoiding predators and to capture them with regularity is a hard earned privilege as there is so much to learn.
The rite of passage was over. The transition from spinning rod to seeking trout in moving waters solely with use of a fly rod came naturally though not with ease. Eventually the desire to cast upon those moving waters only self- tied flies in effort to bring a trout to surface creates another step to learn. Later still, comes the knowledge of what a trout eats, and when. To delicately place that self- made insect imitation upon the water’s surface and fool a trout to rise is fine reward. Eventually that was still not enough…there was yet another step to take.
I built my first fly rod in a solid week of evenings after work one early spring. Each night spent in concentration making sure that every detail was perfect. Every wrap of thread around the guides, the subtle curve of the handle made from thirteen rings of Portuguese cork, all as perfect as the exotic wood reel seat. These evenings gave me time to ponder the amount of pleasure the wife and I derived of our outings to special places seemingly known only to us and trout.
“I’d like the first trout on this rod to be a wild native.” I said to Mag excitedly as I inspected my finished work of art.
“Let’s go fish the Ellis Stream on Saturday.”
So that was the plan, and ever so long in coming that Saturday finally arrived and found us on our way long before the sun. Two and half hours later I stood setting up the treasured new rod beneath the massive profile of Mt. Washington as the burble of the stream enticed me to hurry. Finally the moment had come and I abandoned the wife to hurriedly enter the path through the woods to the stream knowing…..just knowing that this rod was going to cast flies better than any rod I’ve ever seen. And then……
I walked the rod tip into a tree snapping it off just as the sky opened to pour down a torrent of rain as angry as I. And in the span of twenty two seconds I was back in the truck with soaking wet clothes …and a broken work of art.
