in part by a contributing author John Walthers
It was just after dawn, and already I stood there bare legged and knee deep in the fast running waters of the Madison River. I cursed my rubber waders that 'somehow' over the years had shrunk so small I could not pull them over my legs. Now, I was about to let go my first cast across this great fly fishing stream.
I was operating on a seven day license issued to me by the The Department of the Interior of the Government of United States of America! Additionally, I had in my possession a signed copy of a fly fishing bulletin written by a published author who is the oldest owner of a fly fishing shop and guide service near Yellowstone. This prized document authored by him describes just how a person goes about catching these particular types of "elusive trout." An arrow on the map indicated where I might find the best place to fish, and his signature gave me unimpeachable authority to be, right where I stood, this very moment!
For the record, I was also in possession of an expensive four page glossy photo and informational guide published by the Federal Government. I learned more intrigue however from the old timer than can be elaborated upon here! I was particularly excited about the prospect of fishing waters that are a secret only shared with very few especially privileged outside of the National Park Service, their families, certain volunteers, and "special personnel" assigned to keep the area clear of high brush and low branches that may hang up a fishing line from an amateurish back cast.
My special privilege? I am politically connected to those "in the know."
I delivered a brilliant double false cast in the dark and landed the fake fly at an exact spot, at the edge of the far bank of the Madison River. The water splashed high from the jump of a monster fish. I clumsily yarded back my line as hard as I could, and fell backwards into the cold clear morning water. I struggled to the shore, soaking wet from head to foot, and started retrieving line directly to my reel. I could tell by the wobble of my bait I had something on! I waited with eager regard.
I had hooked and landed the eye of a great rainbow trout! Judging from the size of the eyeball I estimated the fish to be at least 24 inches and probably bigger. I speculated it must be one of the renown migratory rainbows that return every year from the lakes downstream. They swim up to renew this great mysterious fishy world that we only get to watch with wonder.
By the time I finally returned to that particular spot on the river my seven day license had all but expired.
Later that week I fished the Firehole River near where the water cascades over cliffs to form a towering waterfall. I fished at every turn out for miles upstream to a place where the Nez Perce dumps into the Firehole. I have always been mindful of my back casts, but till the Firehole I had never worried about hooking up on a wandering buffalo!
I fished every little fluff of fake fly I could find. I knew I had the right foolery on my line this time for sure because, a natural fly swam up and immediately tried to mate with my floating fake fly. He may have been especially amorous and a bit careless after enduring such a long cold abstinance toward maturity. He made his way fully emerged to his intended. I know the feeling!
Anyway, I tied on every imaginable bait you can think of during my five days of fishing there. I tried Bead Heads, Woolly Buggers, Tied Down Caddis, Flying Caddis. I fished every Dun fly I owned, which is a considerable lot after bagging my limit from an inventory special "going out of business" sale at GI Joe's! I resorted to Hoppers at midday, streamers in the morning, McKenzie Specials just for a lark in the late afternoon. I even tied on my childhood special "Jackie Catch All" that I had not actually seen in years. I went deep into my fly box for an attractor fly I dubbed "Reefer Madness" which is actually tied with same. Mostly I use it to show off when people come to fish for Sea Run Cutthroats off my dock. I fished a fly that never misses known as "The Last Supper" and in all of that I never, ever got another strike!
Later that week I fished the Firehole River near where the water cascades over cliffs to form a towering waterfall. I fished at every turn out for miles upstream to a place where the Nez Perce dumps into the Firehole. I have always been mindful of my back casts, but till the Firehole I had never worried about hooking up on a wandering buffalo!
I fished every little fluff of fake fly I could find. I knew I had the right foolery on my line this time for sure because, a natural fly swam up and immediately tried to mate with my floating fake fly. He may have been especially amorous and a bit careless after enduring such a long cold abstinance toward maturity. He made his way fully emerged to his intended. I know the feeling!
Anyway, I tied on every imaginable bait you can think of during my five days of fishing there. I tried Bead Heads, Woolly Buggers, Tied Down Caddis, Flying Caddis. I fished every Dun fly I owned, which is a considerable lot after bagging my limit from an inventory special "going out of business" sale at GI Joe's! I resorted to Hoppers at midday, streamers in the morning, McKenzie Specials just for a lark in the late afternoon. I even tied on my childhood special "Jackie Catch All" that I had not actually seen in years. I went deep into my fly box for an attractor fly I dubbed "Reefer Madness" which is actually tied with same. Mostly I use it to show off when people come to fish for Sea Run Cutthroats off my dock. I fished a fly that never misses known as "The Last Supper" and in all of that I never, ever got another strike!
On the last possible moment of the last day of my seven day fly fishing foray I appeared back at the Madison arrogantly self confident. I walked with great authority past the border post clearly labeled a "special area." Past this point you must have in your possession a license issued by the Federal Government of the United States of America. I was still legal, but just to be safe, I pinned my autographed map to my fishing vest.
I stumbled around women and children picnicking on blankets washing down granola bars with drinking water contained in plastic bottles filled from the "Bull Run" reservoir located in Portland, Oregon. I dodged fly lines being slung from uniformed Rangers plying their secret fishy distraction. I scrambled over piles of trimmed brush left from last weeks work conducted by representatives of the Federal Government of the United States of America.
I found my favorite old fishing hole from last week strangely absent the commotion as most of the fisherman "in the know" stood on boardwalks near the edge of the river and cast from promontory points set out at strategic locations. I of course had advanced experience having fished the place earlier in the week and didn't need the boardwalk.
Actually, I had not noticed the boardwalks that first early morning. Most likely due to the hour and amount of light that morning and lack of oxygen in my system having tried for a half hour to pull on too small of rubber waders. Good thing too, I would never have hooked that eye if I had taken the easy access areas maintained by the Government.
I jumped out on a flat dry island rock 'about a yard' from where I had waded before! It was an easy jump of about two feet or so from the shore!
With no false casts at all to get my distance I spanned the 12 foot to the opposite shore with ease. I immediately hooked a fish which I reeled in without much of a fight.
It must have gone six inches or so! I don't mean like six Alaskan inches, measured between the eyes. I mean the fish was just six inches long!
It would have been hard to have made an Alaskan measurement anyway since the fish had but one eye!
I would have returned the whole fish back into the river as is my policy and also that of the Government of the United States of America according to their literature and glossy photo hand outs but I had released the eye earlier that week.
This issue has been reluctantly sponsored by
"HOT DOG TRAVELLER"
We at the traveller reserve the right to withdraw our support of these articles if advanced notice is not given for unauthorized contributing writers. It has been speculated that the supposed contributing author named in the above title block is in fact a famous and successful dry fly fisherman from the Midwest and has in fact never fished the area's hinted at in this story!
Ancient wisdom from our otherwise oriental sponsor
"GENERAL CHOW"
What do you call a fish without eyes------fsh!
Reminding one and all to buy "General Chow" right now before something terrible befalls you.
You just never know for sure what the future may bring and we want our friends in America to have stores of our "very fine food product." Just in case central government stops loaning you money buy lots of "GENERAL CHOW" now!
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