Looking Back At The Special Places We Fish

A journey to the special places in our heart

Do you ever feel like going to your favorite fishing lake or river and just sitting quietly and watching the trout rise for flies? Just being there is soothing to the heart and the soul. Sitting on that dead tree fallen many years ago and watching the currents of the river flow bye. It’s comforting to be on the bank with that nice warm summer breeze blowing on your face easing the stresses of everyday life. The fish are just a bonus perhaps, the serenity is the reason. I have been combing through my photos lately and that always seems to take me back in time to those special snapshots of frozen images that never leave the mind or soul.

Memories of these special locations still take me back in time. A bank where the cotton woods are twenty feet tall and the soil is abundant with wild sage. We used to drive to this place and run over the banks like couple of school kids running away from the last day of class. Once we were beside the river we would light a fire and watch the embers fly up towards the heavens, it’s like I was there yesterday. We would laugh and talk about our life’s struggles and triumphs while casting into the river of life. Most times we would find what we were looking for in these special places, whether it was the fish or something other then the trout. Many dreams originated along this bank side getaway and many aspirations became realities.

My fondest recollections were ideas of getting a boat and gliding down the river to cover more water and catch more fish, bigger fish, and fish to write home to your mommy about. We figured covering more water would result in a larger experience. We would also talk about fishing lures, what we saw on the shelf last week while walking the isles of the grown up’s toy store. Dreams flourished here, visions of fishing all over the world then snapping these pockets of time and nature began to unfold. We were onto something during these early days of discovery. Back in this time period, I was reading a ton of books on fishing rivers and streams for trout, sucking every once of information from the publications.

I would sit in my room and envision how I was going to work that new lure I just picked up of the tackle store shelf. Many times I would buy low quality lures that were no good for a big river like the Bow. Then I read a book about high end fishing tackle and that was a game changer for me. I went away from the two dollar junk and started buying ten dollar lures. I would stand looking into the water for hours waiting for that dream fish that never came. I think my stubborn head kept me coming back for more; some of my friends lost interest quickly and traded the fishing rod in for a new T.V. I was too thick headed to give in to a creature that I read about others catching by the dozens. Holding those images I wanted so badly to create myself. That creature was never going to get the best of me, never!

I clearly remember sitting on a lawn chair in my garage thinking of ways to beat that living thing which had so far eluded me. I sat on that chair for hours tying flies onto line that I would eventually tie up on my main line at the river. All different types like the Bow River Bugger, The Royal Coachman and the Purple Leech. I would get them ready at home so I spent more hours fishing and less time tying while at the river. One day I walked from my house to the river with my flies all ready to go. I had a dozen packed into a jar which were to be used in conjunction with those ten dollar lures I organized by size and color that same day. I arrived and tied the flies, the royal coachman three feet up and the bow river bugger one and a half foot up from the weight I tied on the bottom end of the main line. I made the cast upriver and let the weight bounce the flies along the river bed hoping to hook that fish, any fish. The weight would sometimes snag up on the larger boulders in the river and I would have to walk way up the river to free it. I would repeat this process over and over. That day would be different then the others, I made the cast upriver like I was taught by those books, but this time the weight snagged up and my line immediately stared to pull fiercely like I had never felt before.

This is what it feels like I thought to myself dumbfounded as to what to do next, I had caught fish in a small stream before but this was no small stream, this was the mighty Bow River. I had several yards peeled out by this fish and I can still remember so crystal clear how fast my heart was beating in my chest. Get him in is all that raced through my mind, so I lifted the rod tip high in the air and slowly picked up all that line he effortlessly stripped away finally catching sight of him. My eyeballs almost popped out of my head and my heart raced even faster if that was possible. I gently knelt down beside the river and latched hold of him with my wet bare hands, hoisting him out of the river to my sheer amazement. This fish measured out at 25 inches and was a male Brown Trout, a species I had never personally caught to date. I knew it was a brown from the pictures in the book, dark buttery gold with beautiful red circle markings on the sides. No fish looks like the brown trout does so I knew what I had in my sweaty palms. He was so big and beautiful I had to keep him to show him off. My neighbor three doors down had told me, if you ever catch a big one bring it over and I will cook it up for dinner on the BBQ. I rang his doorbell and he answered the door, check this out I said pulling the fish out of the plastic bag I had rapped him in. His first question, where did you catch that at? Just down here under the bridge on the Bow River I replied proudly.

It paid off for me to buy those books back then and study my local species of fish. What they did and what lures and flies the trout liked to eat! The books also told me what type of water they liked to hang out in and what times were best to fish. Before I studied their characteristics I failed to catch one, but after doing my homework I began to become successful in catching them. I also knew what to look for in the tackle store! Each and every time I drive over that bridge I still remember doing battle with that first big fish. I still reminisce about all the fish I have been blessed to hook and land along the banks and in the boat. I still remember all the days I would paddle my boat along the river for ten hours honing my skill and smelling all that fresh pine filled air. Those days where I would rise before the sun and watched as it fell before I closed my eyes. Twenty fish days, thirty fish days, fifty fish days keep my hooks sharp and my rods ready to go. As long as I live there will be more memories of those special creatures I hold very dear to my heart.