The Contemplative Angler

Not a rise...
If a friend hadn't assured me that this pool was the home of "some decent trout" I would have thought the water barren. Decent trout, indeed! But with that word "decent" came an epiphany - all my flies had been appealing to the trouts' sense of sight... but what about their sense of decency! These fish - if indeed they existed - had been blithely ignoring all my offerings. Surely, that was a shameful act from any "decent" trout!


With renewed energy, I positioned myself on a rock in mid-stream and began to regard the pool with disdain - then switched to moderate annoyance, accelerated through active pique, and arrived in seconds at a withering scorn.

Two minutes later, I saw a "nice" fourteen inch brown roll to the surface in humble chagrin... but I casually ignored him. A moment later a sixteen inch rainbow with a visible blush on its cheek wallowed in the tail of the pool. I glared at it with a Force Five Contempt - it gave a few feeble wiggles of its pectoral fin in mute apology and then died of shame. Rushing downriver, I netted my first "decent trout" as it drifted slowly by. My second fish, a very decent fifteen inch brookie, was taken on a single glance of reproach cast to the eddy behind a boulder.