11-17-2010, 02:40 AM
You'll find more pics on the Average Joe Fisherman blog.
Choices. We all face them on a daily basis. Some choices take very little thought in order to come to a decision. Others take hours, even days, before you can make up your mind. The pressure of an important decision that must be made can be unrelenting and weigh on your very soul. I was faced with such a decision this past Saturday and it all stemmed from a simple question posed to me by Average Joe Fisherman Scott.
It had been what seemed like an eternity since Scott and I last fished together. While I have spent a record number of days on the stream this year, Scott has had several things pulling him in different directions and our opportunities to enjoy each other’s company on a trout stream have been few and far between. Knowing this, you’ll agree that my excitement was justified when I learned that he would be joining me for the last outing before a lengthy break, due to the woods busting at the seams with hunters, rifles and alcohol; also called rifle season.
The phone call that preceded the trip north was filled with child-like enthusiasm; “Where are we going to fish?” “What is the forecast?” “What do you think the chances are of tying into something big?” And then Scott asked, “I’m not going to be able to leave until noon. Are you going to wait or head up earlier?” There it was, tossed casually into the air with no malicious intent, but yet it stopped me in my tracks. Saturday’s fishing trip was going to be one of the last trips for some time, possibly the last of the year. The choice was to leave earlier and enjoy three to four more additional hours of fishing, or carpool and have someone to talk to for the two and half hours total I was going to spend in the truck. OK, this decision was not of the variety that weighs on my soul, but it did give me pause. In the end I opted to travel with Scott. More times than not I will choose a good friend over trout fishing… well, let’s say sometimes. =)
The day was supposed to be cloudy and wet, which of course meant that when we arrived it was sunny with no rain clouds in sight. Such is the life of an Average Joe Fisherman. The fishing was slow, but the conversation was great and the time passed quickly. Slowly but surely more and more clouds began to materialize until the sky became overcast, and as the evening grew long the fishing got better. Scott caught a couple of beautiful browns and just like that it was two trout to none. Not that I am the kind of person who keeps score… well, apparently I was keeping score. Somewhere in the vicinity of four fish to none I had a sizeable strike. I missed the fish and cursed under my breath. The next cast I caught a pretty little brown trout. Hmm.
As the evening was winding down, my frustration grew and not just because Scott had caught eight brown trout to my three, but because of the fall fishing season in general. Fall is the time of large brown trout crushing your offering, the time when the big boys come out to play. While I have seen big fish this fall, I can only recount one day out of many where the fishing was stellar. My frustration mounted to the point that when I missed the hit of a fish, and the lack of light would only allow for a few more casts, I let a slew of words flow out of my mouth that would make Sam Kinison proud. Disappointed in myself, I reeled my spinner back to me. As I watched it flutter in the current as best I could in the oncoming darkness, an extremely large brown trout decided he would like my spinner for an evening meal. The large brown trout, completely unaware I was there, hit directly in front of me. Startled and having very little line left in the water to play the fish, it was quickly gone. With my head lifted to the sky, profanities flew out of my mouth that, if I heard my daughter say them, would lead to a lifelong grounding. When finished, my gaze returned to earth where I found Scott looking at me, he had a look on his face that read, “Feel better?” and you know what, I did. Just another day in paradise being an Average Joe Fisherman.
![[Image: 13.jpg]](http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_8B9d3iOyz1E/TOHMNzYOo4I/AAAAAAAAAiY/K5VhFNTVbEU/s1600/13.jpg)
![[Image: 7.jpg]](http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_8B9d3iOyz1E/TOHLphuQ3HI/AAAAAAAAAiI/cQzCBw_PZsM/s1600/7.jpg)
![[Image: 17.jpg]](http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_8B9d3iOyz1E/TOHMt7hQhkI/AAAAAAAAAik/etk0NSa6Nvo/s1600/17.jpg)
![[Image: 15.jpg]](http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_8B9d3iOyz1E/TOHKP1cmUlI/AAAAAAAAAiA/6o_2Fbokt-c/s1600/15.jpg)
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Choices. We all face them on a daily basis. Some choices take very little thought in order to come to a decision. Others take hours, even days, before you can make up your mind. The pressure of an important decision that must be made can be unrelenting and weigh on your very soul. I was faced with such a decision this past Saturday and it all stemmed from a simple question posed to me by Average Joe Fisherman Scott.
It had been what seemed like an eternity since Scott and I last fished together. While I have spent a record number of days on the stream this year, Scott has had several things pulling him in different directions and our opportunities to enjoy each other’s company on a trout stream have been few and far between. Knowing this, you’ll agree that my excitement was justified when I learned that he would be joining me for the last outing before a lengthy break, due to the woods busting at the seams with hunters, rifles and alcohol; also called rifle season.
The phone call that preceded the trip north was filled with child-like enthusiasm; “Where are we going to fish?” “What is the forecast?” “What do you think the chances are of tying into something big?” And then Scott asked, “I’m not going to be able to leave until noon. Are you going to wait or head up earlier?” There it was, tossed casually into the air with no malicious intent, but yet it stopped me in my tracks. Saturday’s fishing trip was going to be one of the last trips for some time, possibly the last of the year. The choice was to leave earlier and enjoy three to four more additional hours of fishing, or carpool and have someone to talk to for the two and half hours total I was going to spend in the truck. OK, this decision was not of the variety that weighs on my soul, but it did give me pause. In the end I opted to travel with Scott. More times than not I will choose a good friend over trout fishing… well, let’s say sometimes. =)
The day was supposed to be cloudy and wet, which of course meant that when we arrived it was sunny with no rain clouds in sight. Such is the life of an Average Joe Fisherman. The fishing was slow, but the conversation was great and the time passed quickly. Slowly but surely more and more clouds began to materialize until the sky became overcast, and as the evening grew long the fishing got better. Scott caught a couple of beautiful browns and just like that it was two trout to none. Not that I am the kind of person who keeps score… well, apparently I was keeping score. Somewhere in the vicinity of four fish to none I had a sizeable strike. I missed the fish and cursed under my breath. The next cast I caught a pretty little brown trout. Hmm.
As the evening was winding down, my frustration grew and not just because Scott had caught eight brown trout to my three, but because of the fall fishing season in general. Fall is the time of large brown trout crushing your offering, the time when the big boys come out to play. While I have seen big fish this fall, I can only recount one day out of many where the fishing was stellar. My frustration mounted to the point that when I missed the hit of a fish, and the lack of light would only allow for a few more casts, I let a slew of words flow out of my mouth that would make Sam Kinison proud. Disappointed in myself, I reeled my spinner back to me. As I watched it flutter in the current as best I could in the oncoming darkness, an extremely large brown trout decided he would like my spinner for an evening meal. The large brown trout, completely unaware I was there, hit directly in front of me. Startled and having very little line left in the water to play the fish, it was quickly gone. With my head lifted to the sky, profanities flew out of my mouth that, if I heard my daughter say them, would lead to a lifelong grounding. When finished, my gaze returned to earth where I found Scott looking at me, he had a look on his face that read, “Feel better?” and you know what, I did. Just another day in paradise being an Average Joe Fisherman.
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