The trout dreams are made of…
It’s late July and I’m standing waist deep in liquid Montana. Mayflies, ephemerella, swirl in the air currents around my head. It’s been a hot day, peaking at 100 degrees, but with no noticeable humidity, it’s tolerable. Currently, it’s getting late, close to 9pm, but there’s still daylight.
I pushed a nice brown off the bank as I was wading into my current position. Shoving water out of his way, he moved with surprising speed to the middle of the Madison.
Noses are poking through the film as far as I can see both upstream and down. Slurping sounds fill my ears and bugs fill my eyes and nose. I look upstream and the wind throws a fresh volley of thoraxes and wings into my arms as I try to cast. It feels like raindrops bouncing off me.
I cast my comparadun into the fray, letting it ride the current, hopefully headed for destruction. Presently, my fly disappears into the maw of a current-strong rainbow and I lift the line tight. Electricity. The fish pulses through the heavy current and amazingly bulldogs upstream.
The fish tires and it is now circling at my legs. I slip the net under it and reach in to remove the fly. The fly slips out and all of a sudden the fish starts ringing. Seriously. I’m thinking, “what in the world?”
I can’t think of anything else to do, so I gingerly place the fish to my ear, tail flopping wildly about my chin. I am perplexed at this ringing fish, especially it’s ability to transmit sound, for from the trout springs a cry for help.
“My furnace quit this morning!”
“Did you reset it?” I calmly ask into the trout.
“Sure-I think the condensate is frozen.”
“Okay, we’ll get a Technician by this morning.”
I release the trout and wake up.
Time to hit the shower.
You too huh?