Adventure Magazine

The longest
FISHING
ADVENTURE ever
Now that winter had passed and the darker waters were once again like gin, I could see him
darting out from the under the hanging tree eating whatever it is the trout were eating that day. I
had a feeling he knew I was there. The sun was bright, and it was hard to keep your shadow off
the water. With the water this clear you need to be cunning. But I had fished this spot so many
times, over and over, but this big old boy was too clever for me. Today, I knew would be my last
chance. I cast the tiny hook up stream of him and watched as the fly approached. I had drifted
over this fish dozens of times. Suddenly and unexpectedly the water erupted. Determined not to
lose this big guy I chased him down stream as he headed off like a train for faster, safer water.
But slowly I wore him down and edged him towards the riverbank. I unclipped my net and moved
him carefully towards me. On sighting the net, he did one big back flip, and the line broke just
above the fly.
I could see the beaded fly, like a gangster lip piercing on the top of his lip. He sat a few feet away
from me in the clear water, getting his breath back. I looked at him, he looked at me and with a
‘f&@k you’ attitude he very slowly swam off. I sat on the bank, watched the river, resigned myself
to the loss, and then walked the 600m home and that was the end of day eighty!