The stream we call Humility Creek gives up trout grudgingly on good days. This was not a good day.
The water trickled at half its spring flow while fish shivered with closed mouths. Icicles hung from banks where water seeped.
I had tried teasing fish with streamers in the flats, bouncing nymphs along the bottom of pools and rolling eggs through slow riffles. Nothing. Nada. Zilch.
About noon, I came to a large, slanted rock on the bank where the stream cut underneath. I had found trout hiding under it before, so I gave it a shot. I let the current carry a small stonefly down into the shadows, held my line motionless, and waited. Still nothing.
As I lifted my line for a short cast, a rainbow caught the fly at the surface and went sailing past. A full four inches, this was as an Aussie buddy would call it, a tiddler. I played him well on my backcast and brought him in.
A native rainbow, this big brother to a sardine made up in beauty what he lacked in heft. I took more care in his exit than I had in his entrance, figuring in another couple years we might meet again if he could hide from the herons that long. His enthusiasm in departing sparked a train of thought squarely in the realm of the philosophical.
Normally, four-inch fish don’t get me excited, but when it’s the difference between skunked or not, it suddenly becomes a bit more valuable. Or is it?
Is getting skunked like flipping a switch – you are or you are not – or does a skunk happen in degrees?
Surely, if this fish were two-feet long there would be no question. But four inches?
And does a fish have to come to hand to count? What about the ones that flip off while you hold the leader? I’ll admit that a fish halfway in doesn’t count. But do you actually have to take him off? At what point is a fish fully caught?
What if it had been a sucker? I’ve done that before, catching a sucker on a nymph when I’m chasing trout. Does a sucker scare the skunk away?
Is a fish either a fish or not a fish? So, is a fisherman skunked or not skunked? Can you be partially skunked?
On a cold winter day, a fellow can get pretty philosophical on Humility Creek. Still, I am feeling a lot better with a four-inch trout and a fish count up to one.
Renowned fishing writer Paul Quinnett and whimsical artist Deanna Camp team up to show you the fish you’ll forever want to catch, because you’ll almost certainly never catch one. Still, hope springs eternal in the breast of every angler, which is really the whole point.
This is the perfect gift for a fly fisher who loves a good cocktail with their wild fish stories! To aid the in joy of the journey, mix yourself one of this book’s tasty libations, build your campfire, sit back for some highly entertaining fish stories and lose yourself in the search. The 120-page book features both full-color paintings and photographs. Buy Now
