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.
We are all entitled to our bragging rights, it is part of the fly fishing heritage. However, balancing those “the really big one got away” and “my smaller one was 50 cm” with some objectivity doesn’t hurt either.
Lo suelo ver a menudo. Me refiero al hecho de embarcarse en un viaje de pesca pobremente preparado, especialmente en lo que se refiere a estar a la altura de las circunstancias en cuanto a técnica de lanzado. Yo mismo he sido culpable de ello más veces de las que me gustaría admitir. La frustración —agravada por una cuenta bancaria seriamente mermada— aguarda impaciente.
I see it all the time. I mean being ill-prepared for your upcoming trip abroad, specially regarding the proper casting skills to match the challenge ahead. I myself have been guilty of it more times than I would like to admit. Frustration —highly aggravated by a depleted bank account— awaits ahead.
A whole day devoted to the big ones. Failure: some missed takes and a couple of them felt for just a second; it seems that when they close their mouth it is already late.I can’t blame the river spirits, it was entirely my fault. Best one was 1 Kg; he only responded to perfect drift after perfect drift after perfect drift of a #24 olive dun. With so many natural insects going down the current, why should it be interested in my fly?