Posted on 9/19/2004, 3:59:12 PM by nuconvert
Nothing Fishy About Trout
Dave Barry
Sept. 19, 2004
There comes a time when a man must go into the wilderness and face one of Mankind's oldest, and most feared, enemies: trout.
For me, that time came recently in Idaho, where I go every summer. Many people think Idaho is nothing but potato farms, but nothing could be further from the truth: There are also beet farms.
No, seriously, Idaho is a beautiful state that offers -- to quote Emerson -- ''nature out the bazooty.'' This includes many rivers and streams that allegedly teem with trout. I say ''allegedly'' because until recently I never saw an actual trout, teeming or otherwise. People were always pointing at the water and saying, ''Look! Trout!'' But I saw nothing. I wondered if these people were like that creepy little boy in the movie The Sixth Sense who had the supernatural ability to see trout.
Anyway, on this Idaho trip my friend Ron Ungerman -- and ''Ungerman'' is NOT a funny name, so let's not draw undue attention to it -- persuaded me to go trout fishing. We purchased fishing licenses and hired a guide named Susanne, who is German but promised us that she would not be too strict.
Susanne had me and Ron Ungerman (Ha ha!) put on rubber waders, which serve two important purposes: (1) they cause your legs to sweat; and (2) they make you look like Nerd Boy from the Planet Dork. Then we hiked through roughly 83 miles of aromatic muck to a spot on the Wood River that literally throbbed with trout. I, of course, did not see them, but I did see a lot of blooping on the water surface, which Susanne assured us was caused by trout.
But there was a problem. To catch trout, you have to engage in ''fly casting,'' a kind of fishing that is very challenging, and here I am using ''challenging'' in the sense of ''idiotic.'' When I was a boy, I fished with a worm on a hook, and it always worked, and I will tell you why: Fish are not rocket scientists. They see a worm, and in their tiny brains they think, ``Huh! This is something I have never seen before underwater! I had better eat it!''
But with ''fly casting,'' you wade into the river and attempt to place a ''fly'' -- a furry little hook thingy weighing slightly less than a hydrogen atom -- on top of the water right where the trout are blooping. You do this by waving your fishing rod back and forth, using the following rhythm, as explained to us (I am not making this up) by Susanne: ''CO-ca CO-la, CO-ca CO-la.'' On your third CO-la, you point your arm forward, and the ''fly,'' in a perfect imitation of nature, lands on your head. Or sometimes it forms itself into a snarl that cannot be untangled without the aid of a chain saw AND a flamethrower.
At least that's what kept happening to me and my friend Ron Ungerman. (Yes! ''Ungerman!'') We stood there for hours, waving our rods and going ''CO-ca CO-la,'' but most of the time we were not getting our flies anywhere near the blooping. The trout were laughing so hard at us that they considered evolving legs so they could crawl onto land and catch their breath.
But Susanne was a good teacher, and very patient, and finally, just when I thought I would never ever catch a trout, it happened: I got a citation for not having my fishing license with me. Really. I left the license back in the car. The Idaho Fish and Game official who cited me was very polite, and so was I, because he was wearing a sidearm. I considered asking him if I could borrow it to shoot a trout, but there's probably some rule against THAT, too.
As the day wore on, our efforts -- ''CO-ca CO-la; CO-ca CO-la'' -- took on an air of desperation, because it was becoming clear that Susanne, a true professional, was NOT going to let us leave until we caught a blooping fish. So you can imagine how blooping happy we were when Ron (Ungerman) finally managed to haul in a trout. It was not a large trout. It was the length of a standard Cheeto. But it WAS a trout, dammit, and it meant we could stop.
Later, Ron and I agreed that it had been a lot of fun and we would definitely never do it again. So, to any trout reading this column I say: You are safe from us. And to the Idaho Fish and Game Department, I say: You'll never take me alive.
You ought to see the looks I get when I go fly fishing for bluegills and crappies.
Yeah? What kind of gear?
A cheap, light rod and reel, and a small collection of nymphs and poppers. Every now and then I land a bass, but I'm strictly a bank fisherman, and in this neck of the woods you've got to have a boat if you want to go after the larger specimens.
"and a small collection of nymphs and poppers"
So, you mix sex and drugs with fishing? I guess that makes it a tad less boring......
HAHA! Good fishing story! It reminds me of a few months ago when we went to the end of the pier at Port Hueneme. There was a big guy with a big fishing pole. He finally caught a fish! He was happy and laughing! And the fish was only 2 inches long:)
I got a laugh out of that! Amazing how words change with the times. I was telling my kids last week that in my younger days a mouse was something that scurried across the floor, and a hard drive was a nonstop trip from New York to L.A. ... on Viagra!
LoL
ROFLMAO
Rainbow Trout
He hangs amid glass towers and crystal ropes,
The water slipping past his sleekness
Then crashing, sunlit, like a burst geode
Beyond the studded brink.
His spotted tail and brilliant flanks are all
One muscle, and one undulation
Snaps him across the pool to where a twig
Pulsing down an uncased pipe of current
Shows a gray tip, a head.
Back home, he hovers, mouthing atmosphere,
His vehicle, his Earth, his bringer and giver
The green, chill, intricate, capricious
Harmony in which, by which,
As part of which he lives, to which
The quivers of his unity are tuned.
—Donald Mace Williams
ROTFL... Probably 3/4 of my childhood, from Kindergarten on, was spent facing this enemy LOL
I used to be a huge Dave Barry fan. Til I listened to his tape of his book of Dave Barry Turns 50. It mostly talks about all the Vietnam protests and his obtaining conscientious objector status even though he admittedly didn't deserve it. I've had a hard time finding him humorous since then.
Nothin' like a good trout poem.
I'm almost afraid to ask where one finds the fish! ;-)
Been there, experienced that.
Bloop to the top..
I wonder if Dave Barry was fishing in Yellowstone three years ago: there was a guy fishing in the Firehole River at one of the geyser basin areas who was obviously more interested in looking good than fishing good. He was finely dressed in the newest vest, waders and hat just a few yards from a pedestrian bridge where he would be seen by all who passed -- casting repeatedly to the opposite bank where hot water from the geysers flowed steadily into the river. On second thought, it might have been John Kerry.
ping
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