The Fall

At left, a brook trout from US Fish and Wildlife. Photographed by Eric Engbretson as part of official duties. Copyright-free image. Hosted by wikicommons.

Thanks to Eric for the great snap.

I'm off for some of these fellows this week. There are browns in the water, too. I'm after nice brookies, however.

My fishing partners have no love for "little fish."

I learned on hungry browns and cutthroat. I'd read about brookies. Contrary to the popular sentiment, one lusts after what one doesn't have. If you grow up without brookies, then they have a magical hold on your soul.

Now, I've got brookies. Feisty buggars. I'd rather a day with ten 8-inch brookies than a day with one 16-inch brown. There it is. I like the take. I like the frantic fight and run. Put one on 3 wt. gear and it is a blast.

SO, I'm off to have a little fall on the last full week of the season.

I'll walk some small water one morning and fish some larger on languid afternoons. I'll finish a murder story. Start another. Eat a couple smoked sausages. Smoke a pipe. Fry a couple eggs. Tie a few Red Ass soft-hackled flies in size 16 and see what comes of it.

Those last hours of the season can be enough to last the winter if we use them correctly. To me, they taste of honeyed scotch and wood-smoke.

I'll pack a little scotch, too. Some Bushmills as well. No too much. Mustn't spoil the senses. I'll have to remember the weekend all winter long.

Or I'll have to remember it until Halloween when I try my hand for steelhead and talk about next season's trout opener.

A flexible mind is essential in this game. Don't let your dogma bark too loudly. It bothers the neighbors and scares the fish.

Prost.