The Old Man And The Brook Trout

Normally January is no time to fish Slide Rock Canyon. This year, it was doable.

There had been some snow. The banks along the stream were white with only a couple of inches.  Temperatures were running above average.  With the water still flowing steadily, trout would be feeding.

I parked the Jeep, packed my camera, rod and reel, and started out.  The lack of tracks indicated I was the first person to enter the Canyon for some time.

Admittedly, there's a part of this story I hesitate to tell.  I had a run in with a real wise ass.  Some might not believe me, but with evidence, well, let's not get ahead of the story.

The wise ass in question was a big brook trout.  How can that be you ask?  Simple.  This trout could talk.

All right.  All right.  Don't hurt yourself; don't bust a gut as they say.  Hear me out.

I'd worked my way up the stream, trying pools where trout might like to hang out.  Finally, I felt a nibble, but with a flash of light from his scales, the fish broke the surface and spit the lure back at me.  I swear, he spit it at me.

Not to be deterred, I switched to my favorite fish killer, the lure that never let me down.  On my second cast with the killer, the trout followed it back to shore, and laughed at me.

"Don't be so sure of yourself," I hollered at him.

"Against a bozo like you, nothing to be afraid of," he replied.  "You'll never catch me."

So, I took this picture of him for proof.  As you can see, he's flipping his tail at me, the trout version of an obscene gesture.

Aw, come on.  Can't you enjoy a good fish story?