It Took me 25 Years, But I Did It!

A true story (copied from my blog - http://averagejoefisherman.blogspot.com/

I was twelve years old when my parents got divorced. I was too young really to understand why it happened, but it happened and my life, along with my parents’ lives, changed forever. Like new growth emerging after a forest fire, so to can something positive come from a dark point in our lives. For me at this particular point it was trout fishing. But I am putting the cart before the horse. Let me start at the beginning.

The summertime for me, before my teen years, were spent up north camping. My parents, grandparents and other family members belonged to an association that took up three square miles of land. It consisted of a campground, lodge, pool, trout pond, lots of cabins and most importantly a small trout stream that had two branches running through the property. I spent the summers tubing, walking in the creek, swimming, bike riding, just being a kid. Fishing at the time was limited to waiting for the association to stock the trout pond and then trying to catch something before it was cleaned out by everyone else. Fishing was fun but it wasn’t really on my radar. After all there were frogs to find and girls to scare with them. Plus my parents purchased a little Yamaha dirt bike that, in my hands, allowed me to explore every nook and cranny of the forest the association was located in. Life was good.

Then it happened, life’s first curve ball. Despite the change, my mom and I, along with the rest of the family, still spent the next summer camping. My dad no longer came up on the weekends though. While I was adjusting to that unwelcomed change another change occurred, my Grandpa asked me to go trout fishing.

My Grandpa LOVED to trout fish. He was a spinner fisherman by choice. While he would occasionally string a fly rod together, his passion was for short ultra-light spinning rods and small streams. He was rough around the edges with a bark that was worse than his bite. If you messed up he would let you know about it in no uncertain terms, but he took me under his wing and began to teach me his craft. I was the apprentice and he was the master. Years later I happened to work for a man who had fished all over the world in places like Brazil, Argentina and Alaska. While fishing together one day he said, “Of all the people I have fished with you are by far the best spinner fisherman I know.” That was the best fishing compliment I have ever received and it was a direct refleciton of the hours my Grandpa spent with me.

The stream my Grandpa and I fished was small. As narrow as a two track in places and as wide as a two lane road in others. Brook trout line up in the rifles, but there were brown trout there too. To this day it is not uncommon to catch upwards of forty brookies in a half day's outing. And the brown trout are big enough to make your heart skip a beat. The browns are night feeders though and your chances at catching a big one are few and far in between.

In twenty five years of fishing the stream where my Grandpa taught me to trout fish I have had exactly three opportunities to catch a brown trout bigger than twenty inches. The first was when I was thirteen years old during my first year of trout fishing. My Grandpa had already walked upstream and I was left behind to practicing my casting. A small two foot log stuck out from the left bank. The log was resting in about a foot and a half of water. My spinner landed diretly on top of the log. I gave my rod tip a flick, and as luck would have it, it rolled off landing in the warter directly in front of the log. The water exploded and I yelled, “Grandpa!” My Grandpa came running to see what he said was a twenty two inch brown trout on the end of my line. Due to inexperience and panic the fish got below me and before I knew what happened it was gone. To my embarassment, I started to cry. My Grandpa sat me down on the bank and told me that I would have lots of opportunities in my life to catch big trout. For the most part he was right, except for on our little stream.

The second time came two years ago. I was fishing my home waters in the rain and the trout were very eager to particpate. I happened on a downed tree that, instead of laying across the stream, was laying right in the middle, facing the same direction as the stream flowed. I put a cast just passed the tree and brought my spinner down it’s edge. My spinner vanished. Fish on! The fish ran directly at me until it got a good look at me and I at it. It was well over twenty inches, probably pusing twenty six inches or so. The fish turned and charged up stream. The drag on my reel was screaming, and then nothing. The brown trout was gone. I sat on the bank and shook like I had just avoided a car accident. The brown tout, the biggest I have seen in my home water, had beaten me fair and square. As I stood, I checked my line for abrasions. Then I checked my spinner to make sure it wasn’t bent. When I did I notice that one of the hooks on the treble hook was gone. The brute snapped it off clean right at the bend. The fish didn’t beat me afterall, it was faulty equipment. At least that is what I told myself to make me feel better.

The third time came this past trout season. Once again I was fishing in the rain. As I approached a deep slow bend I weighed my options. I decided to go for it all and cast all the way to the head of the bend instead of sectioning it off. There was an imeddiate weight as I began to real my spinner back to me. I set the hook. The fish came to me almost willingly, that is until it saw me. Once the epic fight was over I held a twenty two inch five pound brown trout. I snapped a few quick pictures and then eased him gently back into the stream. The same stream where I had fished with my Grandpa many times before.

Once out of the stream, on the walk back to my truck, I thought about the man who shared something that meant so much to him when I needed it most. I held both hands in the air and softly said, “I did it Grandpa!” “Thank you.”

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awesome, both the fish and the story. congrats. :bigthumb:

I can only imagine your feeling of triumph and all the priceless memories of Grandpa and you together. Great story!

Love your story (I almost shed a tear) and that fish is the business, Memories of a twelve year old! Excellent.

Thanks guys. I had written that one a little while ago. It has been sitting in my blog unposted. Wasn't sure if I was going to post it either. But I thought it was a cool tribute to my Grandpa.

Great stuff!
Makes me think about all the special people in my life I've fished with.
Thanks for sharing.
A.T.