Technabob: Have I ever mentioned Heraclitus?

This - Is where - We met - Heraclitus, the trout…

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My buddy had finally joined me and was standing there and surveying the scene. He lit up a smoke and decided to watch.

I took a cast in the run with the sunken crisscrossing logs… - Nothing. I placed a cast toward the opposite bank, ahead of the fallen sweeper in the river. Pop, pop, pop. I started working the lure around the tree branches. And then, “Holy ****! Holy ****! Fish, fish, fish!” I don’t know if I whispered it, or shouted it with glee.

There was a trout that had emerged from the depths of the logjam. It was a spectacular trout and it was following my lure! Pop, pop, pop, I swam my lure along the sweeper, using the current and the fish was looking at it, coming closer and closer, swimming steadfastly, yet—lazily. It followed for about twenty feet along the sunken tree branches, as I worked the lure along, hoping he would inhale it. He was getting closer to the bank and I was running out of real estate... Then, about five feet away from the bank from where we stood, it stopped and disappeared back into the depths of the logjam…

I could feel my heart pounding. I took a look at my buddy and he was wide-eyed. “Did you see it?”, I asked. “Holy crap, - I saw it.” he said…

“Wow!”, was all I could say.

This was the second time that day that we had seen an unusually large trout.

Often times in my experience, when you have a hot fish that tries to eat your lure and you miss them, the best course of action is to get that lure right back out there. A fish may hit it a second or even a third time, - if you’re lucky. This wasn’t like that. This trout seemed very educated in the way it moved. Also, as far as I could tell, it had moved out of sight and was in an area that was unfishable. But the fish hadn’t spooked... - It had just ebbed back into the safety of the logjam, not willing to commit. - Yet...

Slowly, I retreated back into the Cedars and commiserated with my buddy. He graciously agreed that the fish was mine to try and catch. And, to let me have at it, - in my own time. He walked away through the Cedars downstream and continued to fish. I felt determined that if I just chilled out and waited for a bit, that fish might move back into a feeding pattern and I might get another opportunity.

So, I chilled out as best as I could. My heart rate hadn’t returned to normal yet... I tied on a new lure even though the bugs were doing their best to make it difficult. After a few minutes, I took a deep breath and repeated the only mantra I thought would be useful, “Make – This – Cast.”

Slowly, I crept back to the rivers edge and crouched down, resurveying the stream. It looked the exact same but, this time, I noticed the stump. There was a stump that was submerged in the sand right at the edge of the sweeper about two-thirds of the way, across the river. That, was the ticket. Aim for just above and on the far side of that stump and in-between the sticks. One shot, make it count. “Make – This – Cast.”, I repeated to myself.

As soon as I sent the lure sailing toward its intended destination, the tension disappeared and I felt a sense of calm wash over me. It must have been millimetres from catching the sticks as it hit the water. The current was moving it into the sunken tree. I immediately started what I call, “The hard sell”. Which involves a pretty violent snap of the rod tip to engage the lip of the lure to jerk it down into the current and then allow it to rise a bit and continue popping it along. It makes for an erratic presentation that often yields violent strikes. It took only seconds.

Pop, pop, bloosh! - The surface of the river exploded.

The sense of calm I had experienced just seconds earlier was replaced by excitement and a dreaded sense of urgency. I had done it! I had fooled it! Zzzt, zzzt, zzzt. - The drag on my reel began its protest. I could see the fish clearly. It was an amazing trout! It was shaking its head from side to side and trying to retreat into the safety of its sanctuary. There was no way I was going to allow it to make it into the fortress of the triangle of logs. I was holding tight. Straining… Zzzt, zzzt, Snap!

My rod had exploded. It shattered, just above the hook keeper. I watched, as the rest of the rod blank slid up the line toward the still struggling trout. I dropped the cork handle and the reel and grabbed desperately for the rod blank. I was determined not to give up and to try to handline it in.

The line was still tight. There was hope. Within seconds though, - a thump, and then the line gave no further resistance. The trout was gone...

My friend had come crashing through the Cedars the same instant that the rod had broken and took in the scene in front of him. “I thought you fell in the river!”, He said, worriedly. Such was the sound of Heraclitus taking my lure. He thought it was I, who had made the, “Bloosh”, sound. And had rushed over to try and save me from drowning. (I have a history of climbing up on top of logs in order to try and make a precarious cast.)

As I began to pull my line in, by hand. I was incredulous to see my lure was still attached. Beyond all expectations, it came back as I pulled through the labyrinth of branches and snags back to where I stood. I inspected it, crestfallen.

I looked at the front treble hook. One of the hooks was broken clean off and the rear treble was straightened-out like a banana.

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I looked down at my broken fishing rod. It was only then, that I actually realized the rod I had chosen to fish with that day in my haste to avoid the bombardment of mosquitoes when we began. - Aw, man! The four and half footer!

I was totally immersed in catching this fish. What was I thinking? The fact that I was totally undergunned hadn’t even come into my consciousness when Heraclitus had come out. - What an idiot! It was the equivalent of trying to hunt a lion with a BB gun. I had no chance. I was just totally caught up in the moment...

Well, if I may paraphrase Heraclitus the Philosopher; A man cannot step into the same river twice. It’s not the same river. And, it’s not the same man.

I’ll end with a reference to an esteemed son of the UP, Mr. John Voelker aka Robert Traver author of, Anatomy of a Murder. Actor James Stewart is doing an impression of me, trying to accurately describe how big Heraclitus the Trout is...

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