Two years ago I had a brief encounter with a monster Lake Trout that left me searching like a junkie trying to duplicate his first good fix. When Twin Lakes freezes over in the winter time, an open channel is left between the two reservoirs. In maybe 20 times of fishing this channel, the only thing I've ever landed was one little carp, nothing even worthy of a photograph. I have, however, had that unforgetable Laker chase my fly to my feet. This thing was so big that it splashed waves past my feet onto the bank, as it turned to slowly swim up the channel. My heart raced as I watched its massive shape swim away just below the surface. I had enough time to lead the fish with one more cast before it was out of reach and, in good fashion, stepped on the line, blowing the cast and spooking one of the biggest trout that has ever shown itself to me. With little chance of removing the memory of that waking goliath spooking back under the ice, I have made it a habit to fish that channel every week or two during the winter months, trying, in vain, to duplicate a visual rush experienced too long ago.
I find myself wondering...is it really just the catches and trophies that keep us returning to the water day after day? Maybe it's also the addiction, the thrill of the chase, that brings us back for more. After all, how many hobbies dictate the direction of your entire life?
No comments:
Post a Comment