Plop! The big brown immediately turns itself and heads toward my little nymph; although not in a hurry, it shows some evident bad intent. A whitish blink from its mouth marks the instant in which the fish stops where —I suspect— my imitation is. When softly tightening the line I activate a mechanism that, at once, gets the fish performing some acrobatics a couple of meters above the water. After the big splash I feel that there is nothing pulling on the end of the line anymore. I smile, though; doubts about our election of this tiny spring creek —nothing but a very short and thin line on a map in a phone— dissipate themselves immediately.
South Island. New Zealand. 2019