Good Life / Sporting Life

Cheating: Golf Course Trout

trout1

I confess, I really wanted to title this post “Whorehouse Trout Fishing”. A few friends have a place in the mountains, they’re golfers. My usual M.O. for a golf weekend is to find out if there is a place to fish and do a bunch of cooking while the others guys are on the course. Seems there is always a place to fish. So when I brought it up this time my buddy told me I was in luck– in fact he had a membership in a trout stream that wove through the course. I packed  a little three weight just in case. I decided to check out the water on the way up to my buddies cabin. And it looked pretty good. So it turns out this skinny rhododendron lined stream was clear and had one pool after another with little riffles and a promise that the last of the BWOs might hatch, nymphs a definite.

When I got up to the house the guys were already there having a drink and a few of us jumped on a golf cart to ride around. A few minutes later we came to a cul-de-sac and cut out behind a fairway onto a bridge. When my friend stopped the cart he produced a baggy of brown pellets and fanned out a handful over the water. In seconds all the rocks on the bottom came to life and the water boiled for ten second slowly tapering off down stream– I knew right then I was at a trout whorehouse. When I was a little kid my dad would take me to the stream for a bit, we never caught much before I could cast and on the way home he always stopped by a fish farm pond where you paid by the pound for rainbows. When I was about twenty years old he referred to those detours on the way home as the “whorehouse” (where the gettin’ is easy).

That evening my buddy gave me a couple of “flys”, #12 barbless hooks with a brown puff of round yarn and told me that was the secret weapon. As the sun rose the next morning and the water was still damn cold, I worked a few real flies. Finally I got a look and bump or two on little #22 red midges, but nothing would stick. So I went there, deep into my pocket and pulled out the dog food fly. Immediately, I was catching 4-7 pound rainbows on nearly every cast. I am talking about creatures that defied the genetic order– football rainbows. That three weight bent in a full 180 from guide tip to reel seat. The drag zipped. Honestly, I had to look around to see if anyone was looking. Honestly, I doubt they would even care, but I knew God was looking. I am pretty sure God is a fisherman. I’ll have to ask if it was okay when I get to heaven. For a day it sure was fun. Sure beats playing golf and I was long gone before the first flight made it to the back nine.Rainbow in Rocks

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