When I was 13 years old, I caught my first trout on the fly rod in Nashoba Brook in a pool between Route 27 and the railroad tracks that parallel them. The pool was unique because at the head of the pool there were little islands, if you will, that broke up the flow and proved a perfect spot to cast from. You just needed hip boots to access them. The biggest of these islands was at midstream. I put on my hip boots and waded to that island.
So my father started fishing, and as usual (for that time), we started with worms on ultralight spinning rods.
It wasn’t long before I noticed a trout rising under the alder bushes on the left shoreline. I cast my worm in such a way as to have it drift right over him. He was having no part of it.
Unbeknownst to my father, I had put an old fly reel of his (a Pflueger Sal-Trout) in the back of my trout vest. So I got it out, took the spinning reel off my spinning rod, and I put on the fly reel. By today’s standards, it was in no way an appropriate setup, but it worked for me, as I did not own a fly rod.
Next came selecting a fly. Well that was not a big problem. I only owned a dozen or so flies. Amazingly, one of my few flies looked like the mayflies that were hatching. It was called a Yellow Sally. It was almost the same color and size of the hatch.
I tied it on and took this old fly reel, loaded with a silk fly line that had not been used in many years, and made a cast that was well short of my target. Mind you, I had never done this before in my life, even with a fly rod. My next cast was still a little short, but better. On my third cast, I put that fly exactly where it needed to be to drift perfectly over that rising trout. I watched with amazement as that trout sipped in my fly as it drifted right over his feeding window.
I was amazed, but not to the point that I did not know what to do next, which was to lift my rod tip to set the hook. I did just that, and the trout was on. My little ultralight spinning rod was doubled over. My dad was in disbelief and started repeatedly saying “Don’t horse him!”, which simply means don’t put too much pressure on the fish and your line or rod.
The idea is to let the fish fight the responsiveness of the rod. Well, I guess I did everything right because eventually I had the fish to my little island. I knelt down and got him into the net.
The battle, as it were, lasted several minutes. I could feel my father’s excitement. I could relate it best to a father watching his son getting his first hit in Little League.
It was a rainbow trout, very dark in color, meaning it had been in this tea-colored stream for many months if not a few years. Today, I would have released that fish immediately, but in 1958 he was going into the frying pan. My pride and satisfaction was unequaled by anything I had accomplished to that point in my life. My father’s pride in my achievement was palpable. We left for home almost immediately after landing that trout.
Notice that I did not call it a fish. That is because trout are a special member of that family of creatures that we call fish. I once heard someone say that he loved trout because they only live in beautiful places. I love trout because they themselves are beautiful.
Some species, like brown trout, are very unique because no two are exactly alike.
I love brook trout because the more you scrutinize them, the more beautiful they become. They have these red dots that are surrounded by a blue halo on a background of yellow dots on a purplish, blue backdrop with an almost impossible array of lines to describe on their back.
Rainbows vary from silvery blue and steel colored with a pink midsection that starts at rose colored cheeks and then a slash of dark dots. Believe me when I say that I do not do justice to their beauty.
I can identify with people with addictions because I am addicted to these creatures and to the places where they thrive. My efforts to pursue them know no bounds.
Because of that addiction, I have traveled to the most beautiful and remote places on earth, like Alaska and Labrador, places only accessible by floatplane. No roads, no cell service, no artificial light, no noise, except that of the natural world. A loon’s call, whirring wings of geese, the silent wings of eagles and owls, and the sounds of their calls and the winds are the only sounds you hear.
WLAGS
WLAGS 
Awesome!!
Matt
Steve, I’m late to the game as always these days, so I’m just getting around to reading this post–but it was worth the wait. 🙂 Reading it, I was reminded of one of my favorite songs (“Eugene”) by the folk singer Greg Brown, in which he refers to trout as “God’s reminder that creation is a good idea.” They are, at the end of the day, indescribable creatures–and I’m grateful for that.
Thanks again!
Brad