On the back cover of the latest issue of Gray's Sporting Journal there is a copy of an oil painting by Brett James Smith titled "One To Remember". It shows a fisherman bringing a very large trout to net. I started to think back to the times when I repeated those very words: "Now that is one to remember!".
Today my mind reflects back to the early 80's while one morning fishing a favorite lake in western Montana . As the canoe slipped into a spring fed cove, I found myself in the midst of a remarkable PMD hatch. I began to watch what looked to be a very large trout coming up and sipping one of those may flies about every six feet. It was a fairly long cast but there was no wind to alter the trajectory. So I placed the fly to where I anticipated she would show again, however, there were so many flies on the water I felt the chance of a take was next to none. To my amazement she took the fly and then commenced to dance on her tail half way across the cove.
She turned only after the line and much of the backing had left the reel. Today I can picture that rainbow in my mind's eye as if it was yesterday. And yes, that was one to remember!
Jim
One To Remember
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nativebrownie
- Bamboo Fanatic
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Re: One To Remember
#2Ah, can't beat the mind's eye and remembrances...
One that I go to sleep on - a very young man on one of those NYC water supply connectors ( I remember the one and the exact pool, but let's keep it quiet on names.) with a brand new Fenwick 7 1/2 for a 5-6. And a #16 lt Cahill from Dan Bailey's Catalog.
Beautiful corner pool ... sulphurs about... and a small rising brown... That Lt. Cahill cocked nicely and my first trout on a dry fly was to hand... admired and released without a touch... Oh My...
One that I go to sleep on - a very young man on one of those NYC water supply connectors ( I remember the one and the exact pool, but let's keep it quiet on names.) with a brand new Fenwick 7 1/2 for a 5-6. And a #16 lt Cahill from Dan Bailey's Catalog.
Beautiful corner pool ... sulphurs about... and a small rising brown... That Lt. Cahill cocked nicely and my first trout on a dry fly was to hand... admired and released without a touch... Oh My...
Re: One To Remember
#3Hi Guys, This is why I don't take many fish, or really nature pictures. If it's 'one to remember, then I'll remember it. My memories have become important to me...........
Jay Edwards
Jay Edwards
Re: One To Remember
#4Crawford reservoir, springtime and the pike where just pre-spawn when I hooked the fish I had been chasing for 5+ years, The battle was an epic one with multiple runs of well over 60'. I managed to get her up to the pontoon boat and then realized "What the heck and how in the heck am I going to land this monster?" way too wide across the neck for my usual grab behind the gills, so now what? well in trying to figure out how to grab this large lady pike she managed to throw the hook. ARRGGHHH utter disappointment! 2 days later I hooked and landed the male she was spawning with and he measured out to 44" and about 20 pounds. The female died of old age and was never landed and her skeleton was a tad over 60". She was huge! so it is not always the ones we land that we remember but it is also the ones we don't land and they will stay with us forever. I can still see her alongside my pontoon boat and my first thought was " Oh Crap! She is longer than my cat!"
Re: One To Remember
#5Fishing the Yakima with a guide in the early 90's, using a bead headed prince and 5X tippet, I had a take that was not much different than many earlier in the day. The only difference was that there was much more weight on the end of the line. The fish surfaced and the guide yelled "steelhead"!. Next thing you know, it took off down river in to the backing. The guide pulled his wooden drift boat over and had me get out of the boat to fight the fish, yelling, "keep the fish up river"! I landed the 9 lb hen in about 15 minutes, attributing the success to the fine drag of the Ari Hart reel and running down the shoreline to keep the fish up river. After a quick photo or two and reviving of the beauty, the guide told me that only 50 steelhead were counted on the Yakima that year. Within the next couple of years, there were none. Burned permanently in my mind...
Re: One To Remember
#6Another "Pike" story--
Several years back my wife and I were fishing a fly-in lake in Ontario. We were fishing in a bay we saw while landing the Otter. A mamma moose and calf were in the bay to add to the excitement.
While casting hardware in the lily pads we heard a big splash and saw the remaining feathers of a Redwing Blackbird floating in the air and on the water. The Redwings were landing on the lily pads and I guess were picking off bugs of some kind.
Harriet looked at me with fire in her eyes and said"I NEED something black and red" I handed her a #5 Mepps spinner with a red and white blade and a black tail, she then proceeded to catch a Northern Pike of about 12-15#'s on her third cast. I think of that one pretty often.
Several years back my wife and I were fishing a fly-in lake in Ontario. We were fishing in a bay we saw while landing the Otter. A mamma moose and calf were in the bay to add to the excitement.
While casting hardware in the lily pads we heard a big splash and saw the remaining feathers of a Redwing Blackbird floating in the air and on the water. The Redwings were landing on the lily pads and I guess were picking off bugs of some kind.
Harriet looked at me with fire in her eyes and said"I NEED something black and red" I handed her a #5 Mepps spinner with a red and white blade and a black tail, she then proceeded to catch a Northern Pike of about 12-15#'s on her third cast. I think of that one pretty often.
It's a good day for something.
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doloresboy
- Master Guide
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Re: One To Remember
#7There was this really hot blonde I knew in college that would do most anything !
Oops! Got my forums mixed up!
Matt
Oops! Got my forums mixed up!
Matt
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adrien schnee
- Bamboo Fanatic
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Re: One To Remember
#8Jim, most all of the fish that immediately come to mind as most vivid in my memory were never landed. Perhaps the one which is most recurring in my thoughts and which I consider myself to be most at fault in not landing is an exceptional cutthroat from an Alberta stream maybe 15 years ago. Cutts are the only species present in this stream, no bulls, whitefish or suckers. I had been fishing a deep run with an indicator and heavy prince nymph when in the middle of the run I met an unwelcome snag. There are a lot of boulders and some timber and it’s a common occurrence. I was very solidly snagged, and despite sharply moving my line upstream and down from the snagged point, I could not dislodge the fly. Quick raps produced no more success. I decided to walk upstream some distance to get another angle to free my fly then. After a number of steps I noticed that the indicator was slowly moving upstream with me, to my astonishment. It then gained speed and my rod buckled under a strong force. The fish charged the bank, but before it could even seek shelter of the cliff face dropping into the run, the hook pulled. It was a very large trout. A friend had landed and measured a deep 26 incher from the same area of the river, but I did my best to shake this one free. This event will always haunt me!
Re: One To Remember
#9Only one?
Ok . This happened in May of 1992 in a river backwater/lake in southern Alberta. This lake we agreed to code name "lac Michelle" after a particularly beautiful french Canadian waitress at a bar near the lake. This story starts out with a major oversight on my part, I forgot my sleeping bag. Now this would not be a big deal except it was also my tent as it was outfitted with a goretex bivvy bag and it was May in the northern Rockies. I discovered the lack of the duffle bag at Canadian customs, so there was no going back for it. My good friend had a spare bag he bought in newzealand which was labeled "the fern-feather" This bag was the blanket of a very nice yellow lab named Holly. This was a singularly worthless and stinky blanket, "light as a feather, warm as a fern frond" was the joke for the rest of the trip.
At the customs station it became very clear that there was another oversight; Holly's papers were missing. No access to the far north without em. I spent that first night at the border, under the truck, in the rain, cold and shivering. The worst part was the smell of a 1980's auto tranny 8" from my face, but it was better than the intermittent rain and snow. When the fax arrived from the vet the next morning we were off with improved spirits.
At the lake things looked considerably better, there was a picnic shelter at our site, and a fire ring that was right next to it. No use setting up camp as I didn't have anything to set up so we launched the boat and broke out the beer cooler. This lake is, as I mentioned, a back water of a big ancient river. The channel that runs thru the middle is 10-20ft deep, but the rest is 12-24" deep gravel bars and mud the whole thing is less than 50 acres of water. The sunlight lit up the shallow bottom of the lake, and the water was high, way up in the willows and reeds lining the banks, this from the spring runoff in the main stream.
We had come here to fish for pike, a guide friend of a friend had said the shallow warm water pulled big fish out of the river during runoff. And sure enough we had a blast catching 24-30" pike on leech patterns wading along the deep channel. We were laughing and as the sun started dropping below the peaks to the west the surface action heated up. We got out and waded the shoreline catching fish after fish on dahlberg divers.
The beer cooler was getting pretty low by the time it was about dark, just the long northern twilight to fish by. I tied a a purple double bunny to the steel leader as we rowed to the mouth of a narrow little slough off the main lake and found the channel to be fairly deep. I cast into the darkness and my fly was followed by a huge dark shadow. I figure eighted the fly at the boat and the fish sank into darkness.
This was the moment my buddy suggested I get out and wade the slough. The idea seem like a good one, but in retrospect that beer cooler was dangerously low at the time . I fumbled my way out of the boat to find I was 6" from the top of my waders. If I walked out toward the lake it got shallower but the channel of the slough was getting deeper every step. I got my footing and walked until I could cast around the first bend. The water was now about 2" from the top of my waders and I tightened the straps to give me a couple more. I sent the fly into the center of the channel and waited for it to sink. As I stripped the fly an even bigger shadow followed it toward me. And it kept following until my fly was a foot or two from my leg. I stuck out the rod and figure eighted the fly and an eruption of a fish, the tail smacking my leg, detonated on the double bunny. As I staggered my waders shipped the VERY cold water, sure it was warmer than the flood in the river, but not by that much.
My Hardy system 2 reel was humming as that pike rocketed up the slough. Now the whole thing was only about 30 yards long and as soon as the fish hit the end it turned and stormed back toward the lake. I was stripping line as fast as I could when I realized I was blocking the only way out. That fish never even slowed down; it hit me hard on the right leg, splashed me with water, and I shipped another dose in the waders as I stumbled backward in the darkness. In a flash the fish was out into the lake. I thought for a moment it was gone but then the line started flying thru the guides again and I was away back into the backing. I turned on my head lamp and tried to get my bearings.
By now it was pitch dark, I was shivering, soaking wet, more than half drunk, and much more than a bit shaken, my leg was throbbing.
I finally got the pike close by and it was huge. I was in now in 3ft of water, my buddy in the boat was laughing so hard he could barely stand up as he was trying to describe the sound I made when the fish bruised my leg.
My friend was a magazine writer, mainly for Japanese fishing journals, and he had the camera ready for the moment. I lifted the fish and we measured it, just shy of 50", thick, fat and mean looking in the dark. The camera flashes totally blinded me and in the images I had a look on my face more akin to that seen on the faces of survivors of natural disasters than on the faces of successful fisherman. No smile, just a pale tight lipped stare, a bit grim to be honest. I let the fish go, staggered into the boat and it took me half way back to the landing before I could start laughing about the experience.
Those photos never made the magazines, the images were fine, the fish was monstrous, but the scared look on my face was not really sending the message fly fishing magazines were trying to convey.
That is one fish I will never forget.
Ok . This happened in May of 1992 in a river backwater/lake in southern Alberta. This lake we agreed to code name "lac Michelle" after a particularly beautiful french Canadian waitress at a bar near the lake. This story starts out with a major oversight on my part, I forgot my sleeping bag. Now this would not be a big deal except it was also my tent as it was outfitted with a goretex bivvy bag and it was May in the northern Rockies. I discovered the lack of the duffle bag at Canadian customs, so there was no going back for it. My good friend had a spare bag he bought in newzealand which was labeled "the fern-feather" This bag was the blanket of a very nice yellow lab named Holly. This was a singularly worthless and stinky blanket, "light as a feather, warm as a fern frond" was the joke for the rest of the trip.
At the customs station it became very clear that there was another oversight; Holly's papers were missing. No access to the far north without em. I spent that first night at the border, under the truck, in the rain, cold and shivering. The worst part was the smell of a 1980's auto tranny 8" from my face, but it was better than the intermittent rain and snow. When the fax arrived from the vet the next morning we were off with improved spirits.
At the lake things looked considerably better, there was a picnic shelter at our site, and a fire ring that was right next to it. No use setting up camp as I didn't have anything to set up so we launched the boat and broke out the beer cooler. This lake is, as I mentioned, a back water of a big ancient river. The channel that runs thru the middle is 10-20ft deep, but the rest is 12-24" deep gravel bars and mud the whole thing is less than 50 acres of water. The sunlight lit up the shallow bottom of the lake, and the water was high, way up in the willows and reeds lining the banks, this from the spring runoff in the main stream.
We had come here to fish for pike, a guide friend of a friend had said the shallow warm water pulled big fish out of the river during runoff. And sure enough we had a blast catching 24-30" pike on leech patterns wading along the deep channel. We were laughing and as the sun started dropping below the peaks to the west the surface action heated up. We got out and waded the shoreline catching fish after fish on dahlberg divers.
The beer cooler was getting pretty low by the time it was about dark, just the long northern twilight to fish by. I tied a a purple double bunny to the steel leader as we rowed to the mouth of a narrow little slough off the main lake and found the channel to be fairly deep. I cast into the darkness and my fly was followed by a huge dark shadow. I figure eighted the fly at the boat and the fish sank into darkness.
This was the moment my buddy suggested I get out and wade the slough. The idea seem like a good one, but in retrospect that beer cooler was dangerously low at the time . I fumbled my way out of the boat to find I was 6" from the top of my waders. If I walked out toward the lake it got shallower but the channel of the slough was getting deeper every step. I got my footing and walked until I could cast around the first bend. The water was now about 2" from the top of my waders and I tightened the straps to give me a couple more. I sent the fly into the center of the channel and waited for it to sink. As I stripped the fly an even bigger shadow followed it toward me. And it kept following until my fly was a foot or two from my leg. I stuck out the rod and figure eighted the fly and an eruption of a fish, the tail smacking my leg, detonated on the double bunny. As I staggered my waders shipped the VERY cold water, sure it was warmer than the flood in the river, but not by that much.
My Hardy system 2 reel was humming as that pike rocketed up the slough. Now the whole thing was only about 30 yards long and as soon as the fish hit the end it turned and stormed back toward the lake. I was stripping line as fast as I could when I realized I was blocking the only way out. That fish never even slowed down; it hit me hard on the right leg, splashed me with water, and I shipped another dose in the waders as I stumbled backward in the darkness. In a flash the fish was out into the lake. I thought for a moment it was gone but then the line started flying thru the guides again and I was away back into the backing. I turned on my head lamp and tried to get my bearings.
By now it was pitch dark, I was shivering, soaking wet, more than half drunk, and much more than a bit shaken, my leg was throbbing.
I finally got the pike close by and it was huge. I was in now in 3ft of water, my buddy in the boat was laughing so hard he could barely stand up as he was trying to describe the sound I made when the fish bruised my leg.
My friend was a magazine writer, mainly for Japanese fishing journals, and he had the camera ready for the moment. I lifted the fish and we measured it, just shy of 50", thick, fat and mean looking in the dark. The camera flashes totally blinded me and in the images I had a look on my face more akin to that seen on the faces of survivors of natural disasters than on the faces of successful fisherman. No smile, just a pale tight lipped stare, a bit grim to be honest. I let the fish go, staggered into the boat and it took me half way back to the landing before I could start laughing about the experience.
Those photos never made the magazines, the images were fine, the fish was monstrous, but the scared look on my face was not really sending the message fly fishing magazines were trying to convey.
That is one fish I will never forget.
Leave it as it is. The ages have been at work on it and man can only mar it. T.R.