What the Trout Fisherman said, & How the Willow Replied! (I Talk to Trees; Some Talk Back)

Brown Trout on Grass!

 

       

        Twas the beginning of June on a late Tuesday afternoon. On a trout stream that shall forever remain anonymous for reasons that will become obvious. Early on this Trout Fisherman experienced some technical difficulties. The setting beautiful, a shady spot with overhanging trees, a deep pool of cold water upstream, fast water rippling over rocks. A willow tree grew out of the middle of the rippling water on a bit of raised rock and soil a bit of an island. The willow spread limbs over most of the streaming water then another pool where the water gathered before flowing on.  The lower pool had depth and logs, a place where trout could  lay in wait, let the cold water bring them food. In fisherman terminology a "Good Hole." A place sure to hold trout.    

Innocent Looking Willow, Don't Be Fooled!

 Now what the Trout Fisherman said after casting many times in vain to the Willow;  "Why, oh why? Pray tell thee to me, why dost though insist on catching my flies with thy willowy limbs and eating them?"

        The Willow Tree replied; "The fault dear Trout Fisherman, lies not in myself, for I have been existing exactly as you see me now for many years. I have done naught, but be as I am. Rooted in the rocky soil drawing in nourishment and water then photosynthesizing to grow healthy and strong."

        "So you say, but I notice you reaching limbs out even as I'm casting my fly to seeming purposely catch my fly. Then refuse to let that artificial lure go and return to me the rightful owner."

        "Oh, Dearest Trout Fisherman surely your perception must be skewed. My branches waft in the wind, but today there exists hardly a breeze, they have not moved or sought your vagrant flies. The fault surely lies in your casting." 

        "You've now eaten three or four of my finest flies. I have no way to retrieve them. At three dollars or more a piece. You cost me a tidy sum!"

        "I did not know your main interest was saving money. Consider that you drove one half hour to get to my home, now you complain of a few more bucks, because you keep casting your flies where I live. Certainly you have many more flies for I witnessed you rummaging through your tackle. Might I suggest that maybe just maybe the fault lies in your casting. Maybe just maybe you should seek an open spot without trees and try fishing there."  

        "I suppose you believe you have won this debate. But I shall return some day and...."

        "And what, lose more flies?" Thus concluded the Willow.

        Dear Reader; this proves that this Trout Fisherman can not win an argument with a Willow Tree. So I did move down stream to a spot without shade, a bend below a ripple where I could see Trout hitting the surface of the water making loud slurping sounds as they inhaled a hatch of very small flies. 

        In truth I did have a plethora of more flies to choose from. First I put faith forward in the Pink Squirrel. Famed in Viroqua in trout fishing legend and song the Pink Squirrel is not a real squirrel. It is a fly created out of gray squirrel hair with a pink neck band.  I cast that pink squirrel over a dozen times into the water expecting a tug as a hungry trout latched onto that lure. No luck. Next I decided to follow the trout fisherman's cliché of matching the hatch.

        Matching the hatch involves finding a fly pattern that looks like what the trout are feeding on. For the trout continued actively hitting the surface, slurping up tiny tan flies I could barely see. First I tried an Elk Hair Cadis. After a dozen or more floats through the feeding trout, who dutifully ignored my offering, I switched to a large Parachute Adams with red belly. I had one hit on that fly but missed setting the hook. 

        Feeling that fly to still be to large, after many more empty casts I tied onto the end of my tippet the smallest Adams I had. A delicate well formed tiny dark gray with brown highlights number and the suggestion of wings. Metaphorically similar to the little black dress used by some women when trying to attract a mate. After several promising casts a trout slurped up my offering. I set the hook. The trout leapt from the water, once, twice, thrice, then dove deep, made a bee line for a large seaweed patch which it burrowed into.

        I have lost countless trout once they make this move. The seaweed frequently allows the trout to unhook themselves. I moved down the bank nearer to the water then applied pressure to ease the trout out of the weed bed. Through the pole and line I continued to feel the fish, soon I pulled the trout free. That trout jumped three more times before I successfully landed it.

Not A Willow In Sight

   I would love to say it's all about being there. Which it is! Yet after not catching any trout for a while, the not catching gets a bit old and frustrating leading me to start visualizing a dozen red worms and a spinning rod.

        Passing by the Willow on my way back to the truck the Willow spoke again.

         "And.... how'd it go down there my Dearest Trout Fisherman."

           "Your suggestion was most helpful although I didn't feel that way at the time. I finally caught one."

           "And have you informed your readers about the lure you lost because you miss tied it. That that fly just came off without any interference from this Willow Tree."

       Quite tersely I replied, "I didn't really think they needed to know that."

        The Willow wafted gently in the rising evening breeze seeming to expand in height and breadth then said, "I didn't think so. Goodnight!"

        Bested by the talking Willow again, I drove home!

Brown Trout on Plate With Asparagus

        That's health food pictured above. The native Americans who populated this country before the Pilgrims in funny hats landed at Pilgrim Rock. Excuse my faux paws the rock's really called Plymouth Rock. The Rock didn't have a name for many years; people just called it The Rock. Most ignored it. Didn't consider it at all. More  importantly the original Pilgrims in funny hats must not have known about landing at that rock because they didn't mention it at all. One hundred twenty-one years elapsed before a 94 year old elder claimed to know that that's in fact where the Pilgrims landed. Cause his daddy told him so. More interesting trivia only about one third of the rock remains. The rest has been carried off by tourists bought and sold by speculators.  Before historical trivia set in, I just wanted to say that the Native Americans had a practice of Giving Thanks for their brother animal that they killed for a livelihood. A great practice of Gratitude. Which I followed before partaking of this wonderful meal provided by Mother Nature. Amen! May Brown Trout swim healthy and strong from now until eternity, which ever comes first. 

    Thanks for Joining Me! Stay Strong and May Serenity Be Yours! Tony