04-30-2006, 03:48 PM
[cool][#0000ff]MY FIRST BIG TROUT. [/#0000ff]
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[#0000ff]I was born in Idaho and lived there for my first 11 years. My whole family fished and I had a rod in my hand before I was six. But, I never caught anything more than the little stream trout in the trickle cricks in the mountains. [/#0000ff]
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[#0000ff]Our home, in Idaho Falls, was only a half block from Willow Creek. It now runs underground, all through the city, but in those days there were long open stretches and double culverts under all the roads that crossed the creek. I spent many hours fishing for the chubs and suckers in that creek and only dreamed of maybe catching one of the large rainbows that I occasionally saw in one of the holes.[/#0000ff]
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[#0000ff]The big rainbows either worked downstream from the creek's mountain origins or upstream from the mighty Snake River, into which it dumped. These were beautiful fish, with no scars or fins rubbed off in a hatchery. Many were over two pounds and some I saw were two or three times that. They were the stuff of a young angler's fantasies.[/#0000ff]
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[#0000ff]One day, when I was about 8 years old, I was playing along the creek banks and stopped in front of one of the culverts that ran under a street close to my home. I caught a grasshopper and tossed it into the water, watching as it floated into the culvert. KABLOOSH! A big beautiful rainbow had annihilated the hopper. A second hopper met the same fate.[/#0000ff]
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[#0000ff]My young heart pounding, I raced the two blocks back to my home, to grab my fishing pole and to offer another hopper to that rainbow. My mother had other ideas. She wanted me to stay home because we would be having lunch in a half hour. I guess she recognized my excitement and desperation because she relented. I could go, but I had to be home in a half hour.[/#0000ff]
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[#0000ff]Not sure what the land speed record for an 8 year old kid is, but I probably was a contender. As I arrived, huffing and puffing at the culvert I grabbed a hopper off a tall weed and pinned it on my hook. Then, I stripped off several feet of the old hand-me-down fly line bequeathed by a favorite uncle. A sloppy lob cast got the hopper on the water along with several loops of semi floating fly line. [/#0000ff]
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[#0000ff]I held my breath as the offering floated slowly past the edge of the culvert, and then a few feet inside the dark tunnel. Then, out of sight, there was a splash. I had no idea what I should do, so I waited a few seconds and then started cranking in the remaining loose coils of line on my old single action baitcast reel. The three section steel telescoping rod bent into a straining arch and it was GAME ON. [/#0000ff]
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[#0000ff]For at least a couple of minutes (seemed like hours), it was a standoff. The fish did not want to leave the water and I whimpered with excitement as I tried to convince it to do so. The flimsy rod just did not have the lift necessary to break the stalemate. In frustration, I tossed the rod aside and grabbed the line. Since the leader was only six inches of the heavy snell material used on the packaged hooks I used, it held under the challenge and I dragged the poor trout unceremoniously out onto the grassy bank.[/#0000ff]
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[#0000ff]The hook was deep down in the trout's throat and it was bleeding. I had no way to remove the hook, so I merely gathered up my rod in one hand and clutched the flopping and bleeding fish to my chest with the other...and started running back to my house. [/#0000ff]
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[#0000ff]I think I made it before my time limit. I don't think it would have made a difference if I had. My anglers' mother was as excited as I was. Over the next couple of summers we still lived in Idaho, before moving to California, I caught many more large rainbows from Willow Creek. And, since then, I have taken countless fish much larger and more glamorous. But, nothing will ever replace the memory of that one fish.[/#0000ff]
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[#0000ff][/#0000ff]
[#0000ff]I was born in Idaho and lived there for my first 11 years. My whole family fished and I had a rod in my hand before I was six. But, I never caught anything more than the little stream trout in the trickle cricks in the mountains. [/#0000ff]
[#0000ff][/#0000ff]
[#0000ff]Our home, in Idaho Falls, was only a half block from Willow Creek. It now runs underground, all through the city, but in those days there were long open stretches and double culverts under all the roads that crossed the creek. I spent many hours fishing for the chubs and suckers in that creek and only dreamed of maybe catching one of the large rainbows that I occasionally saw in one of the holes.[/#0000ff]
[#0000ff][/#0000ff]
[#0000ff]The big rainbows either worked downstream from the creek's mountain origins or upstream from the mighty Snake River, into which it dumped. These were beautiful fish, with no scars or fins rubbed off in a hatchery. Many were over two pounds and some I saw were two or three times that. They were the stuff of a young angler's fantasies.[/#0000ff]
[#0000ff][/#0000ff]
[#0000ff]One day, when I was about 8 years old, I was playing along the creek banks and stopped in front of one of the culverts that ran under a street close to my home. I caught a grasshopper and tossed it into the water, watching as it floated into the culvert. KABLOOSH! A big beautiful rainbow had annihilated the hopper. A second hopper met the same fate.[/#0000ff]
[#0000ff][/#0000ff]
[#0000ff]My young heart pounding, I raced the two blocks back to my home, to grab my fishing pole and to offer another hopper to that rainbow. My mother had other ideas. She wanted me to stay home because we would be having lunch in a half hour. I guess she recognized my excitement and desperation because she relented. I could go, but I had to be home in a half hour.[/#0000ff]
[#0000ff][/#0000ff]
[#0000ff]Not sure what the land speed record for an 8 year old kid is, but I probably was a contender. As I arrived, huffing and puffing at the culvert I grabbed a hopper off a tall weed and pinned it on my hook. Then, I stripped off several feet of the old hand-me-down fly line bequeathed by a favorite uncle. A sloppy lob cast got the hopper on the water along with several loops of semi floating fly line. [/#0000ff]
[#0000ff][/#0000ff]
[#0000ff]I held my breath as the offering floated slowly past the edge of the culvert, and then a few feet inside the dark tunnel. Then, out of sight, there was a splash. I had no idea what I should do, so I waited a few seconds and then started cranking in the remaining loose coils of line on my old single action baitcast reel. The three section steel telescoping rod bent into a straining arch and it was GAME ON. [/#0000ff]
[#0000ff][/#0000ff]
[#0000ff]For at least a couple of minutes (seemed like hours), it was a standoff. The fish did not want to leave the water and I whimpered with excitement as I tried to convince it to do so. The flimsy rod just did not have the lift necessary to break the stalemate. In frustration, I tossed the rod aside and grabbed the line. Since the leader was only six inches of the heavy snell material used on the packaged hooks I used, it held under the challenge and I dragged the poor trout unceremoniously out onto the grassy bank.[/#0000ff]
[#0000ff][/#0000ff]
[#0000ff]The hook was deep down in the trout's throat and it was bleeding. I had no way to remove the hook, so I merely gathered up my rod in one hand and clutched the flopping and bleeding fish to my chest with the other...and started running back to my house. [/#0000ff]
[#0000ff][/#0000ff]
[#0000ff]I think I made it before my time limit. I don't think it would have made a difference if I had. My anglers' mother was as excited as I was. Over the next couple of summers we still lived in Idaho, before moving to California, I caught many more large rainbows from Willow Creek. And, since then, I have taken countless fish much larger and more glamorous. But, nothing will ever replace the memory of that one fish.[/#0000ff]
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