Angling Companions

I have fished with many companions. Old ones, tired ones, blind, fat, thin, smart, smart-ass, dumb ones, and yet today was still a first. Having failed at my attempt of bribery to pawn off my small children to another caregiver, I was left with the only solution; to bring them along. The only rule I gave them, well two rules: Don't drown and Don't throw rocks in front of Dad. Ah, the best laid plans of mice and men. I must say, the stream was wonderful, a bit high, but clear as gin. Ah...gin..that's a story for another day. I had picked the perfect location, one not too far inside the gate (still locked, bless the DWR) and along a nice patch of grass in which the kids could graze.

As I approached the first hole, I false cast to get my line out, and was fast into a fish! Wow, thought I, to the joyous screams and applaud of my seed, I am a pro. Then the wheels fell off.

It was one stumbling, slipping, tree hooking mess after another. All this amid ducking of rocks, and my own feeble curses of, "RULE #2, throw the rocks the BEHIND ME!" I managed to hook just one more trout. I firmly place blame on a lack of concentration. Who can concentrate under the scrutiny of "Dad, how long before you catch a fish", or "Dad, is this poison?" as the 6 yr old places a colored berry in her brothers mouth. My thoughts turned to explaining to their stricken mother of how the drownings were indeed an accident.

Then came my redemption. As I came upon two rising trout, under a labyrinth of branches, I knew this was my time to shine. After breaking off two flies in said branches, and hushing the peanut gallery, I tied on a faithful para-adams, and sneaked within 10 feet of the trout. With the precision of a neuro-surgeon, I placed the fly a full three feet to the right and behind the trout. No matter, he zigged as I held steady, and struck him as he submerged, to the cheers and squeals of my onlookers, Dad, was the hero of the day.

Finography!

Yah, pick your chin up from off the ground. Can you believe this? 29", 17 lbs. Caught up in the Nipigon River system, Labrador. Plane tickets anyone?

Of no moral character/work ethic..

In other words....a damn fine piscator! Thank you boys, I'll take that compliment. Ti's a sad time in a man's life when he crosses out a fishing trip for a meeting, and it's not even December. Things are out of whack.
Twas a good day. As you can see, the stream was a bit high and cloudy, but not enough to stop a good bushy dry from doing it's job. I'll spare you the mercy boys, and tell you straight, it was a damn fine day. Not even a nip from the ole flask would have improved this outing. I fished about 200 yards, gathered in many a trout, even hit the proverbial triple play, if only for the lack of Brookies, she'd had let me score a home run!

The fish gods smiled heartily upon my journey that day. Even the Mrs. gave her parting blessing. (Usually a sure sign of disaster) The type of day that may come but once a year, but more often than not, every other year; when the planets align, bait flingers stay home, and solitudes reigns supreme and every cast is a winner. Of this you will know...I can die a satisfied man, until next time that is.