Last year, on December 30th I made my one and only New Years Resolution for the year 2010. It was a risky pledge, one I thought might tumble into disgrace at one point or another, so for public accountability, I wrote my resolution…here~~> I Resolve, To be Nicer to Whitefish in 2010 or, for the quick refresher I wrote the following:
I, Rebecca Anne, lady who wields a fly rod, hereby swears not to cuss, kick water, roll my eyes, yank in or otherwise throw an un-lady-like fit when she discovers a whitefish has ruthlessly grabbed one of her flies in the year 2010.
And then, remarkably, I didn’t catch a single whitefish all spring…all summer…when usually the little buggers torment all my fly fishing trips. The absence of whitefish became a great mystery to me, almost like reverse karma. The more I got angry with them last year, the more they enjoyed toying with me. This year I pledged to be nice and suddenly I was off the catch rotation. I got lulled into a false sense of fly fishing security…I forgot about Whitefish. Completely.
And then I drove to Montana last Wednesday. And Thursday morning I hit the Madison River. When I felt the first tug of a fish on my line, a smile as wide a Montana broke out on my face and a minute later my smile turned into a grimace when I hauled in a Whitefish.
They found me! There was no escaping them on this trip and I hereby swear, I was nice to them. I even took a picture, so that’s a first and should count for bonus nice points.
So, basically, I drove 500 miles to catch Whitefish……..oh, ‘scuse me, Mountain Bonefish.
(ok, I caught other fish, but I’ll write about them later. Whitefish handling deserved it’s own entry)