April 12, 2018 – Tangled with a Unicorn, Settled for a Pig – Northampton County Limestoner

Redemption after a trying morning.

Call me Ralph.  I am a heaver.  I guess it’s the adrenaline, but when I used to run cross county in high school, play soccer, ask out the hottest girl in my Chem class, I would inevitably vomit or at least dry heave before and/or after the big event—not during, that I can recall.  I empathize with Stan from South Park and that high school speaker from Marjorie Douglas who vomited on live television—it could have been me.  My nerves can’t handle being so hype for so long, I suppose.  What does all this have to do with fishing, you may ask?  Man, I lost a huge wild brown yesterday, probably 5 inches longer than the one I taped and released later, pictured above.  I did everything right too!  I was set with both feet firmly planted, my sighter a straight line to my 5X tippet, good knots that held.  I reacted immediately to the slight pause in my drift.  I got a great hook set, fought the fish well, turning him from his sunken log cabin multiple times, keeping his nose out of the streambed stones where he could work my size 18 pt out of his jaws.  I even got my net out without losing focus on the fight at hand.  And what a fight it was!  For 24 inches, I bet, this fish was a leaper.  He tailed-walked all over the pool, even towards me at one point.  I will dream about this wide-bodied beast dancing on the surface of the creek for many years, I am afraid.  So what went wrong?  At the time, while sitting on the bank vomiting, I could not have told you.  In retrospect, however, I think I have figured it out.

If you fish barbless, you are probably well-accustomed to the flies coming out of the fish’s mouth in the net (and not).  It is quite common to land a fish in the net and find that he is already free and ready to be turned loose.  It must happen when the pressure is released.  When I got this fish’s front half into my inadequate net, I must have released the pressure, and he was gone.  My tandem rig was intact, the hooks were not bent, which could have happened, I suppose; he just caught a break.  Honestly, I am not even sure the net would have worked.  I had to net the 19.5 incher twice because he flopped out the first time, and I hate beaching big wild fish—that, too, can lead to leader snapping, especially 5X, so there is no good solution while fishing alone.  If I were fishing with a buddy, at least I could have blamed him for losing the fish, but if it were Sam or Kev, for example, they may have had the right tool for the job, a nice long-handled, deep basket-ed Brodin or FishPond or something.  Am I going to be one of those guys with the long handle stuck in my wader belt now?  We’ll see how well I sleep over the next couple of weeks, I suppose.  I do have a birthday coming up very soon, and I have been a decent boy

Under there he is, still...

I am not kidding when I say that I almost went home after losing that fish.  I texted Sam for some therapy, knowing he tangles with a lot of big fish, and perhaps knowing that fish that big do get off quite often and that another fisherman would confirm this for my fragile psyche.  His responses helped, but I think talking to Tami on the phone and to another fly guy that I ran into streamside a while later helped me process my defeat and move on.  I am glad I did not go home because I had some redemption, this time landing a large fish on the same rig.  I taped this fish, convinced it was over 20 inches, but while only 19.5, it was a horse.  Length is not the only measure of a beast, I hear (just ask POTUS?).  I was dry heaving again when I released this fish!  I guess it was all too much for my old heart to handle.

Back to reality

I should have gone home then, but I decided to take a drive to one last run before heading home.  Not only were blue winged olives active, but caddis were beginning to pop.  Big fish were active, so could I go 2 for 3?  The results, a stocked brookie, in a wild trout stream… The local TU has been doing this for a few years and claiming they wash over the falls and such.  Who knows where he came from, honestly.  I ended my day here, praying I would sleep and not dream of dancing 24 inch browns all night.  I did, dammit.

Not my best camera work.