That was last week.
Today I knew earlier. In fact I knew earlier all week. I knew that if the conditions stayed the same or similar we could have a little rod bending match with some bull trout I'd been hunting a system for and finally found in numbers.
At least that's what I figured. You know how she goes, you get all giddy with sheer conviction you have unlocked the secret to the universe. Completely envisioned in the minds eye in perfect technicolour how good it's gotta be because you've figured it out.
You are Dialed.
Usually at some point this is shared with a closer than close fishing partner in clandestien private messages or cryptic texts, (the dog barks at midnight) and a planning session ensues nailing down dates and times. Who's towing, who's bringing the launch coin, most importantly - who's got the coffee?
Then you get 'there' and do 'that' and then 'that' some more, and then some of this, and this, and then some that, and then going home scratching a patch bare on your mellon saying shit like, "sure was good to get out". Yeah, that's a load of shit. That's why I got a boat and a couple few thousand dollars worth of gear and invested half my waking life tying flies, to get out.
I like to get out just as much as the next guy but, let's catch some fish. I didn't get a rod made out of more and better researched outlandish scientific nonsense than most shit that's been into orbit for nothing.
Certainly not to just get out. For that I can step out my slightly leaky sliding door.
This time it was like laying down and following a blue print. Once we plugged in what I had figured and were actually doing it, (took a little manuvering to get it right) it was elbow jarring, stripsetting, madness.
The application again fit the conditions and mood of the fish famously.
This time the target was char (bull or dolly) and I had found them in a slow moving 6' trench that slowly norrowed and shallowed up at the same time. Being fairly wide with little or no bank and as such casting room, we anchored the boat in the center of the channel. Using ghost tip and full clear intermediate lines, we made long 3/4 down and across casts and allowed the beaded flies to sink in the slow moving water. Once a count of 5 to 10 was reached a slow 6 to 10" slow pulsing retrieve was begun giving lively punctuation to the slow swing of the olive woolly buggers and egg sucking leeches.
Rule of thumb was if the water was too fast to have your fly hanging up on the swing alone in 5 or 6 feet of water, then you needed to find slower water to fish.
Sometimes the fish would pick the fly up when the line tightened right at the start of the swing, if you felt a hesitation, a strip set and raise of the rod was often met with a fish pinned to the fly. Other drfits had the line being left to nearly dangle directly behind the boat with a slow retrieve having the fish either follow for great distances and then smashing the fly, or slipping up out of wrinkles in the botttom and popping the fly as it pulses by above their hide outs.
The fish absolutelty hammered the fly just like I'd imagined they would. How often does that really happen anyways? Fishing being as good as you'd thought it would be. I mean I've fished quite a bit and I can imagine a pretty damned good day. Rest assured, if my day goes half as good as I imagine it's going to be before I get there each time I put a line in the water, well let's just say we don't want to go there. You'd pull something and be sidelined longer than Sami Salo after run in with four 5 year olds in a Chucky Cheese ball pit just listening to it.
Sometimes, not very often mind you but sometimes, it does go just the way you imagined and occaisionally a little better to boot.
That my friends is sweet.
If it's already happened for you, way to go - hero, nice now get over yourself. If it hasn't well some day you'll be able to be getting over yourself as well.
Conversely, one can have a picture in their minds of how a day is going to turn out even after the most careful planning and preparation only to have it more resemble a 3 Stooges meets Gilligan's Island conglamoration of head knocks and consternification - and still have it become one of the best days of your life.
But that's another line of bull for another time.