I fly fish for trout. I release trout…most of the time. There is a river near the house which just opened for harvest this week. The fish have been there since December and have gotten nice, healthy, and delicious eating everything that a self-respecting trout should eat (i.e. everything except trout chow). By this weekend there won’t be a trout left in the river as the wave of fish killing worm chuckers have descended like locusts and their thirst for blood won’t be quenched until there is nothing left to catch but suckers. Most years I would avoid the place like the plague, but this year I decided to see how the other half lives…I am now the fly fishing version of Dan Aykroyd in Trading Places. The reasoning goes, if they are all gonna get killed any way, why not let them die in the most honorable manner a trout can wish for…by fly. We were thinking about doing a feature on fly fisherman run amuck but after killing our limits, and taking a look at the photographic evidence, we decided that we should never speak of the incident again…much like a Uruguyan Rugby team stuck in the Andes…we did what we had to do…for our freezers…you wouldn’t understand unless you were there man. Here are some pictures from the day that probably won’t wind up being on the next TU slideshow.
I am ashamed…but surprisingly full….Trout are delicious…who knew?