Monday, September 12, 2016

A Non Fictional Hemingwayesque Account...

Sitting, blank in thought, staring into the glowing screen, I felt a light tap on my shoulder. "Pa what are you doing?"  I turned and said "thinking of what to write". "Why don't you write about a big fish you caught?". I was instantly reminded of the great Hemingway short story "The Old Man and the Sea" and the grueling three day battle between Santiago and the enormous Marlin. Additionally, I remembered a  similar unexpected non fictional battle between me and an extraordinarily large fish that still appears in my dreams from time to time.


Feeling Heminwayesque

It was another rare but glorious Oregon day in March. After what seemed like weeks of endless rain, on my way home, I could not help but notice the "greening" of the creek below that had been running chocolate brown for what seemed like an eternity. The sun sparkled thru the branches of the grand Douglas firs and the water looked every bit inviting.  Glancing at the clock on my dash, I figured that I might have a slight window to grab my rod and wade-to-play some trout to the net.

Returning to the creek, I began to put together my rod. Shaking from excitement, I struggled to tie on my flies - the site of fishy looking waters did not help. The plan was to run a bright floating indicator above a heavy anchor fly with a lighter fly hanging on a dropper about 16 inches above. I knew I had to go deep, since the water temps were still ice cold. Once my rod was strung, I cautiously stepped into the icy cold waters. I was glad that I remembered to put on extra layers and especially my thick wool socks.

Standing waste deep, I found a good seam that flowed into a  deep trench. After casting, my eyes fixated on the small fluorescent pink floating bobber that held my two flies. I waited out two drifts and towards the end of the third, the bobber suddenly disappeared under the surface. Fish on! From the rods bend, and the feel of its weight, I knew that it was a smaller trout. Surprisingly, it gave me a good fight and it was now visible from my fixed position. Suddenly, from the corner of my right eye, an enormous dark shadow emerged from the bottom. As my mouth opened and heart now pounding the shadow transformed into a silvery bullet, drifting to the surface and shockingly swallowing my trout!

My God! It was an enormous steelhead! I was now faced with the challenge of fighting possibly a record weighing steelhead on a 5wt. rod with nothing more than 6lb. line. I instinctively new that I would not win the battle, so I reached for my flip phone-camera to at least have some sort of evidence. The dance went on and on as the suns color changed from a bright piercing yellow to a subdued orange color. After jumping with such grace, she would take a run, which made the reel scream like it had never before. I put the phone back in my pocket as I started to ponder on the possibility of me landing such a magnificent fish.


I could see she was tiring, as I tried to roll her on her side. The battle had now placed me in fairly swift chest high water and I wondered how I would beach her without any net. A quick glance behind me, only revealed deep cut banks with thick overhanging brush. What was I to do? The fish was closer and closer, but as I started to reach for the tail, she took another run. Everything was being tested at its limits, including my arms that had been holding this sliver of a rod for at least forty minutes now.

Similar to the Hemingway classic, I befriended the fish with all due respect to her beauty and grace. It was not until I spoke to her that she finally came to my arms. The silvery chrome color with bright hues of pink and blue are unforgettable. I was in awe. Even my hand was too small to grip her around the tail and I could only hold her for so long before she began to struggle. Her girth and strength was too much for me as she slid back into the cold green glaciated waters, line now broken.

Truth be told, I was not upset that the fish escaped my embrace. With encroaching darkness and my heart still pumping, I was just thankful for the dance with such a great partner. I loved it much like Pushkin loved his Anna Kern. Nevertheless, unlike Hemingway's Santiago, I did not want to harm the fish, but only spend some quality time to admire her all in her grandeur. Hopefully, we will meet again and she will perhaps tell of ocean going tales. (Waking up) However, next time I gotta make sure I bring the friggin' net!


Not me but Similar Size of Fish from Betts Guide Service



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