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.