"Where The Trout Are Longer Than Your Leg"
by Don Deems

Move over, John Gierach. It IS all meaningless, but sometimes catching THE BIG ONE is a tale worth telling. She was a gorgeous lady, 30 _" long, 20 _ " girth, estimated weight of 16 pounds, and had all the colors of the rainbow. And yes, I've got the pictures to prove it.

Jeff Maxwell and I got "permission" from our wives one Saturday afternoon in late September to head to the river the next day to throw a little line around. Now, if you're married, you know that a day off is a precious gift. Unless, of course, you're really the one in charge, which as I understand, many aren't.

We didn't try to get up too early that next day to catch the last of the night-feeding browns, which weren't expected to begin spawning for a few more weeks. We mostly just wanted to enjoy each other's silence, eat a big breakfast, take in the scenery, and maybe wet a fly or two. We're mostly the catch-and-release type unless our wives are just dying to eat some trout - which only happens once or twice a year. When they do eat it, they wonder just what fascinated them about eating trout in the first place.

Of course, anyone that has eaten fresh trout streamside knows that there's no better tasting fare. But by the time you get trout home and cooked from a day on the river with no ice chest to keep the fish cold, they don't always end up tasting like freshly caught trout. But this story is about a catch-and-release fish, so hold tight, in case you're getting offended about killing fish.

It's just about light on Sunday morning and Jeff arrives with a Thermos of coffee in hand. We load up the truck, say our good mornings, and visit about the usual "this is gonna' be the day" stuff. We've lived so many of those days in our dreams - only to watch them to never happen - that discussing them isn't as fun as it used to be, so we turn our sights on deciding which fast food 'delicatessen' we'll stop at for breakfast. Food is always a great topic. The good thing is, we can eat whatever we want today, and by now you've figured out why. There's a code of silence we share about letting our wives find out how much and what we really eat.

We get to the river, and a sure sign that we're not taking this too seriously, neither one of us has our rods rigged. Then talk lessens. There's a tiny amount of nervous tension. It's time to get serious. I mean, face it: no one wants to get blanked any fishing trip, even if you're just out for fun and relaxation. We make the walk down to the shoals, and great! No one's there, we've got it all to ourselves, our bellies are full, and not a cloud in the sky. We have the whole day ahead of us, no phone calls, no honey-do's, no lawns to mow. And no fish in the shoals. Bummer.

Twenty minutes into fishing, Jeff spots a big one. Or a big log. Oops - the log can move! It IS a big one. Jeff yells to me downstream. "Hey, you gotta' see this!" I pull my line in and move upstream. Yup, it's a big one. "Careful Jeff, this one's gonna' be tough. By the way, have you ever caught a fish this big?"

"Naw."

"OK. Well, take your time. What are ya' fishing with?"

"4 lb. tippet, bead head caddis, 4 weight rod."

"Any lead?"

"Nope."

"Well, go ahead and work it, slowly but surely. You may need to add some weight to get it down." Jeff threw line at the fish for what seemed eternity, but was probably a good two minutes. No luck. "Don, come on over, see what you can do."

Okay, here's my chance. Having been to Alaska several times, I HAVE caught big ones - trout and salmon big enough to double a 9-weight over to the point of breakage or shoulder strain, whichever comes first. I know what we're up against.

"Jeff, what I'll do is get the fly down where the fish can see it." The line stops. Fish on! Ten minutes later, the fish still hasn't moved again - and I can't move him, either. "Jeff, go on out there and get the fish to move. If it doesn't move, walk up and tail 'em." Jeff walks up, the fish moves away. And takes my fly and leader.

Okay, so we're both bummed. It would have been a great story.

"Hey, Don?" "What?" "Would you believe that fish went right back to that spot?"

"Must be a female wanting to spawn. What the hell is a RAINBOW spawning in September for?"

"I don't know, but it's my turn." Go for him, buddy.

Jeff's hooked her within a few minutes. "Fish on!" Well, not for long. She took him to the cleaners, too. Time for a new leader, tippet, and fly.

Another chance at immortality missed again! How could we let down the Fish Gods who had looked so favorably upon us? What kind of fishermen were we anyway? There's silence. Nobody gets three chances on the same once-in-a-lifetime fish. What went wrong? We start talking about it and simultaneously become aware that there weren't any wakes following a fish THIS big leaving the shoals. That fish has GOT to be here somewhere! We spend the next twenty minutes carefully checking every nook in the shoals, top to bottom. No sign. Oh, did we look back in the original spot? Well I'll be...!

Less than a minute after spotting the fish, Jeff's got her back on. "All right, Jeff, take it slow. Nice and easy, take your time. We've just GOTTA bring her in this time."

Thirty minutes later, he's still hanging on. Or she is. Well, okay, they're hooked together by a line and a hook. The darn thing hadn't moved more than 20 feet and seems completely intent on spawning. Well, we want to land her for a picture first. So, I go on out there to move the fish a little. Damn, that's a BIG rainbow!

The fish moves. A little. At will. Without concern. We're gonna' need a big net. Of course, we don't carry nets. That wouldn't be sporting. I mean, we're the proper, gentlemanly, barbless-kind-of-fly fisherman, aren't we?

So I hike back to the truck, pick up the cell phone, dial Tom's shop. I'm breathing very hard, and I'm not trying to sound excited. Hard to do when your heart feels like it's going to pop out of your mouth. "Do you guys have a net I can borrow? I need a BIG one. We've got a monster."

"Naw, we don't have one."

I'm thinking, yeah, right, this fly shop/outfitting service doesn't have a big net? Do they KNOW who I am? I don't have time for bull. "I'm a close personal friend of Tom's". There's silence. Okay, sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn't. The guy didn't waver one bit. "No, I'm sorry." Great.

By luck, a local shows up with spinning rod and nylon net in tow. I can tell this guy really does eat trout, routinely, and he's got meat on his mind.

"How ya' doin'?," I asked.

"Fine."

"Listen, do you think I could borrow your net? My buddy and I got a big one on, and I'm concerned we won't be able to land 'em without a net. Would you mind?"

"Sure." I'm thinking this is an awfully small net, but it might help. "Thanks! I'll get it right back to you!" I start running, and I'm thinking, does he still have the fish on? I almost bust my tail on the mud getting to the water.

Sure enough, Jeff's standing there, his rod's doubled over, and he's holding on with one arm. He's trying to shake some blood into the other arm that's been applying all the pressure for the past half hour. "Okay, I'm gonna' try to maneuver this fish a little, Jeff. If she moves, let her. Don't try to stop her."

So we spend the next half hour wading all over those shoals, just following the fish, trying to get her to move, trying to sap her of a little energy, trying to have her let her defenses down enough to be landed. I'm sweating in my no-sweat waders; the material can't let moisture through fast enough, and I'm getting soaked. A crowd is gathering. Now the pressure is really mounting. Not only could we lose a great fish, but we could be publicly humiliated in the process.

"OK Jeff, I'm gonna' get a little closer and see what happens." I'm within 5 feet of this fish, downstream. I splash a little water to see if she's still spooky. Nope. Good, maybe we're slowing her a little. I look at my watch. An hour has passed. It's gotta' be now or never. I put the net in the water about 3 feet behind the fish, being careful not to scare her. I know the potential a fish this size has to move whenever she wants and the devastation she can leave behind. I slowly approach her.

In one flurry of action, water splashing everywhere, she turns downstream - and head first into the net! I lift her up - we got her! Jeff drops his rod, his arms numb and fatigued. A look of excitement, accomplishment, and heroism flashes in one tired smile.

No need for words. Only a handshake. We know, as all fishermen do, what this was all about.

A pocket camera with film left over from a summer of not-enough-fishing dangles from Jeff's vest. Jeff kneels down in the water, tails the fish, admires her beauty, gently rocks this precious life in the cool water. He's beaming like a proud father.

Pictures are taken. "Get the right light." "Hold it, I think you blinked." "Smile". "One more time." We measure the fish, carefully handling her belly, not squeezing her, holding her like a newborn infant.

The crowd can't believe what they just saw. Both of us stroke the back of this freak of nature. She's massive. She possesses a calmness, a sense of purpose. She fears nothing. She slowly swims off. We watch with awe and honor.

Someone says, "What'd ya' do that for? Why, that could have fed my whole family!" No comment. Just honor.

The crowd disperses, and no one's looking where she heads off. We don't, either. We've just received a gift, and we don't want to be selfish. Well, one of us doesn't. We head downstream around the corner, not caring a lick if we catch or see another fish the rest of the morning. Which we don't.

The early morning coffee has run it's course, and our stomachs are growling and our bladders are full. I begin to head upstream toward the truck, and Jeff stops by to tell his story to a guy fishing near us. The guy's impressed, but he's not sure that it's really true. He eyes Jeff suspiciously. Jeff is trying to maintain his dignity and hold back his euphoria at the same time. But I have better plans; I decide to see if she went to that same spot.

Now, anyone who fishes for trout knows that they are not rocket scientists. They're FISH. And there she was. Here's my chance, no one's around. I want MY picture with that fish. I re-rig with 12 lb. test tippet, a large nymph, and some weight - and here we go.

For the fourth time that morning, the fish is hooked. This time she comes in easier. She's not angry. She just wants to be left alone. I feel bad for hooking her.

I yell for Jeff. He's got one picture left. "Make it count!" The picture is taken, she's gently released and swims off to her same spot. I'm still not feeling so great about disturbing her. I really just want her to swim off where no one will find her, including me. We pack up, head out for some lunch.

We didn't see one more fish the rest of the day.

Oh, did I forget to tell you where we were fishing?