Just finished up a tour of one of the major NJ rivers with TU folks. Can’t give out too many details on a public forum until things are more firm. Joining us were four members of NJ State Council, three from TU national, a NJTU chapter president, the NJ Fish & Wildlife Principal Trout Biologist and the watershed association head for this river system. At a stop along the way, in a rather large pool, I saw a nice fish rise to a sulphur. By his second or third rise everyone attending had seen this hog. It was very apparent by his takes that he was a good fish. After watching several rises, we decided that this fish needed to be caught or at least attempted to be caught. Who to rig up and do the deed? Yours truly drew the short straw.
I have never been so nervous in my life - a big fish and an even bigger audience! Heckling from the peanut gallery aside, I rigged up, jumped into my waders, tumbled down the steep bank and dropped into a rather deep river. The lie was more than slightly tricky with some major downed trees that needed to be drifted under and a current mend that would need some finesse. As I stood there for a moment sizing up the situation, the fish continued feeding with abandon. So did the heckling. “Hey, you’ve got the wrong fly on”. “That’s not a trout”. “C’mon, you fish the Delaware, this fish should be easy”. “No pressure”. “The whole project rests on your catching this fish!”. What are friends for? My first cast drifted right over the fish and sure enough, a take. I came tight, but no fish on the other end. The sudden quiet told me that this was a serious matter. Each person watching from the bank or the bridge overhead wanted to see this fish eat my parachute sulphur dun, a fact that was now immediately apparent. “Well, I said out loud, “at least he didn’t feel any steel. Maybe he’ll take again.” I think I was trying to convince myself, but the truth is my heart sank a little and the pressure felt somehow reduced. “Oh well, you can’t catch ‘em all” was the only thing I could muster as I sized up another cast.The next couple of casts were close, but no takes. After about the 5th drift, he ate! Bang, fish ON! Now the nervousness came back like a baseball bat to the back of the head. My three weight bent over hard and my reel screamed as I saw the backing coming up quickly. Finally he stopped and gave me that oh-so-hard head-shake of a big brown. Ladies and gentlemen, we have a fight on our hands… After several more strong runs up and down stream and a few dicey moments near that big log snag, he came to net. A wild fish, and a beauty at that! While I did not measure him, he was in the 16″ - 18″ class - a serious brown for these waters and he was born right here in this river. As I carefully released him, I felt the wave of nervousness subside, but as I looked down at my hands I noticed they were shaking more than a little bit. Hoping that would go unnoticed, I climbed triumphantly out of the river to back slaps and attaboys from the crowd. Somehow, all was right with the world and our trip was now complete.By the way, during the course of the fight I noticed another big fish rising steadily against the far bank….calling all Louts!
Rusty Spinner
Rusty Spinner
Bob Sutton said:
May 21st, 2007 at 4:59 pm
“Preparation, Grasshopper, is a burden that gets heavier until you need it, but turns weightless the instant you do.”
Sum Yung Guy
Brian Cowden said:
May 22nd, 2007 at 8:03 am
Still no picture to back up my story, but I’m after Lipkin for his brookie story so one of us can write it with creative license and post the story and pix under his name.