Life, it seems, is often filled with well-intentioned promises which never come to pass. You make them in all sincerity and are determined to carry them out, especially if it’s the third or fourth time you agreed to do so.

In this particular case my brother-in-law, Ted Otto, and I had promised each other many times to get together and do some trout fishing. He meant it, so did I, but life seems very adept at throwing up roadblocks and our attempts to meet up failed every time. Gee.

But, with Memorial Day Weekend only a day away, I gave Ted a call around 11 a.m. “Let’s go fishing!” I proposed. Ted was glad to hear my voice and said he even had several days off, but was buried under a heap of chores and obligations.

When suggested he skip a chore or 2, they’re always waiting, and take some time out for himself, he wavered, finally saying he’d call me back.

I was in Walmart just a couple hours later when who do I run into shopping? Why, Ted of course! We greeted each other and he was smiling. Had he taken the plunge? He certainly had.

“I’ll be down a little before 6.” He said. “The chores can wait!”

At 6 he picked me up and it was pleasant to talk and catch up. We’d married sisters, both of whom are gone now, and the similarities in our lives and attitudes was remarkable.

All too quickly it seemed we arrived at the stream. The water was low and clear, stealth would be needed in conditions like this. Ted headed upstream and I headed down. Luckily, the bug repellent I’d put on in the morning was still working and the little black gnats and mosquitoes were held at bay to some degree. At least when you’re fishing you can slap and wave your hands in self-preservation, unlike hunting the wily gobbler where one is afraid to blink too often and the bugs are free to chew holes in your hide unmolested.  

Trying to remain inconspicuous and out of sight is a challenge in low water. You’re sneaking around like a cat and occasionally can’t get into the perfect position to fish a hole. A good way to lose a number of hooks which I did. Several times trout darted up and looked suspiciously at my bait, then turned disdainfully away. If it wasn’t a perfect, drag-free drift, they weren’t interested.

I finally managed to make a perfect cast under a low, overhanging tree and a trout grabbed the salmon egg. I set the hook and the battle was on, landing a 13-inch rainbow, then moved downstream to the next hole. Lining up several trees I moved as stealthily as possible to the creekside. The water ran against the far bank and into the hole. There was an eddy on my side of the stream and a sunken tree across. It was the perfect spot for trout to lie.

My first three casts the eddy on my side of the stream caught my line as it swirled upstream and ruined the perfect downstream drift of the egg just when it reached the spot I guessed the trout would be holding. The trout which had to be in such a perfect spot immediately were alerted and ignored my offering.

I waited several minutes for things to settle down, made a fourth cast and immediately mended my line downstream in the eddy. That should allow the egg to drift several feet further in a natural manner.

The egg was visible for 4 or 5 feet, then sank out of sight in the current. I was watching my line like a hawk and saw with some satisfaction that this drift was drag free. Suddenly, the line twitched and came taunt. I lifted the rid tip ever so gently and felt a weight. Was I hung up or had a trout nabbed it?

Before I could determine what had taken place the tip was jerked violently down, the rod bent double and I found myself holding on to the UL for dear life. Simultaneously, the deep, clear water of the pool flashed silver as a wide, long side turned and an impressive trout shot upstream screeching the drag effortlessly.

Shocked, who could believe such a large trout was still in the creek, I stumbled to the stream side and caught my rod tip in an overhanging branch. Furious with myself I gave a sharp snap and luckily the line cut through the tender leaves leaving me free to play the fish.

The trout was powerful and kept diving for the sunken tree. I’d reluctantly increase the pressure to keep her out. After 5 minutes the trout showed no signs of tiring. Once I had her to shore, but this seemed to give her new life and the battle continued. After a long, nerve wracking battle I finally was able to beach her.

Wow, the big rainbow was 21-inches long, silver sleek and had been in the stream some time. The beautiful pink slash down her side was gorgeous. Ted had heard me shout and appeared out of the bushes, his eyes large. “What a fish!” He exclaimed.

“Is it 24-inches long? He asked.

“No, only 21.” I answered and we both burst out laughing. Our long planned trip had an amazing ending.