56 days until small stream trout opener

I am drooling over all of these trout stream photos Len. March 6 cannot come soon enough!

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http://lenharris.blogspot.com/2010/02/good-luck-charm.html

Exceptional story. John Armstrong consistently catches big trout on flies with you. Lucky charm. Well it ain’t always about luck. Big trout are rare. To catch one you have to find one first. I strongly believe that big trout are territorial and live in the same deep pools year after year. You are the guy that knows where they live because you put your time and effort into it, even during the off season.

Last August I met up with Len, a good hour before sunrise. First fish of the day. Made my weekend right off the bat.

32 days until opener!

Can you see big brown in photo?

Don’t recall seeing this photo. Incredible. Perfect color and clarity. I believe the big brown is just down and two the right of the end of the guy’s fly line. Getting ready to smash his fly. Looks like a nice one. Did the fish hit?

Reminds me of this corner bend

The Stream of Time
by Len Harris

I was startled awake by the alarm clock. I couldn’t figure out why the blasted thing was squawking in my ear at 3:00 a.m., so I sat up and reached across the bed to turn the infernal thing off. As I laid down to go back to sleep my bride of thirty-nine years elbowed me and said: ” Get out of bed, you old fool.” I responded: “I am retired now, I thought we threw that alarm clock away!” to which she replied: “Len is expecting you at four.” It then dawned upon me “I am going trout fishing today!” I sprang from my bed.

Sprang is a relative word. As sprang as any 62 year-old, recently retired school teacher can sprang, today was the day. I was going to re-introduce myself to my childhood passion — trout fishing. I quietly left the bedroom and started a pot of coffee. As the coffee brewed, all the memories of my childhood fishing rushed over me. The day I was bitten by the trout fishing bug. It seemed just like yesterday. I have played that memory over and over again in my head many times. It usually happens when the first cold snap hits in late September.

Dad rolled me out of bed at the crack of dawn. Uncle Sig is already in the car, waiting. The gear is packed and all that’s left is to get me dressed and into the car. Dad hurries me…tells me that we need to be on the water before it gets too sunny. Dad turns the old Buick westward. We are on our way.

Dad and Uncle Sig are giddy with anticipation, and as they reminisce about old outings they took together when they were young Dad tells me about the first time he went fishing with his father. I had heard that story many times and smiled as he told it again…although the fish he’d caught had grown since the last time I’d heard it!

The road gets long and I nod off. All of a sudden Dad and Uncle Sig are almost shouting: “here’s the bridge”, Uncle Sig exclaims. He bolts from the Buick, gets down on all fours and crawls up to the bridge’s edge. He peers over the bridge, then crawls back and comes running to the car. Uncle Sig is really fired up. He says: “Young man, there are a couple nice browns under that bridge with your name written on them!”

My Dad places me downstream from the bridge. Uncle Sig is in the sneak position again. He crawls to the edge of the bridge to aid me in placing my cast properly.

Dad directs my cast with the aid of Uncle Sig. It seems just like yesterday. The beautiful brown trout takes my offering on the first cast. My dad and uncle are cheering me. The battle seems infinite. I land a smallish brown. My dad and uncle make me feel like that trout was the biggest and most beautiful trout they had ever seen. A farmer in a truck drove by at the same time and gave me a thumbs up as he drove across the bridge.

Man, did I ever get sidetracked.

I’ve got to get moving and meet up with Len. The time is just screaming by, just like all those years of teaching had. I had never gotten a chance to go back to that bridge. Teaching and family had washed away any chance of getting back there.

I met up with Len and we got into his truck for the trip to the bridge. I did not remember the exact area of the bridge as I was six years old the last time there and I had slept almost all the way there; I just knew a general area of the bridge. As Len drove along I tried to describe what the bridge looked like.

I told Len the story about my first outing with Dad and Uncle Sig. I described the bridge to a “t.” The way my uncle had hung off the bridge on his belly to direct my first cast. We searched and searched the area. We could not find the bridge. We stopped and looked at the map to see if there was a place we were missing. I was so sad. I could not find that bridge… it had disappeared. I could not talk with my dad or uncle. They both had been taken by the stream of time to where all good anglers go. We finally gave up on the bridge and turned around and decided to hit some close water.

Len slowed the truck…and said: “Peter – is that it out in the field?” I said: ” No, it can’t be. It isn’t the way I remember it. It was on the main road and it didn’t look like that.” Len told me that the county had straighten the road about 35 years ago and made a new bridge. That bridge out in the field had to be it.

Len could see my disappointment in my face. I got out of the truck and strung up my rod. I asked Len if I could fish the stretch alone. I wanted to try to re-capture some of the magic of my ancient memories. Every thing looked different. I thought to myself that this couldn’t be the bridge. I carefully approached the bridge hole…..I placed my first cast directly in the feed lane. A brown trout came up and took my presentation. I knelt down to net the brown…the memories rushed back….the bridge ruins jolted my memory.

Don’t let The Stream Of Time wash you away before you have found YOUR bridge.

http://lenharris.blogspot.com/2010/02/2-anglers-50-trout-each-one-hole.html

Was there a bull running with those heifers?

no “real” bulls

The Wind In The Trees

By: Len Harris

It was late September. I was 5 years old. I remember the day vividly. It was the day I became a trout angler. I had gone with dad many times before that year. All of the other times were TRAINING…..This is what he called it…

Training entailed many things. One was carrying my dad’s extra rod and me constantly asking dad: “When will it be my turn to catch a trout?” Dad would always reply: ” It will be your turn when you learn the ways of an outdoors man.” And one of those ways you haven’t learned yet is to be quiet and you needed to feel and enjoy your surroundings.” “The trout can hear you talking.”

At age 5 my patience and attention span were in the negative numbers. I would lose focus sometimes and pick up sticks and throw them in the water or beat trees with them. My dad would just stare at me and roll his eyes. By the end of that long year of TRAINING….I was ready I thought.

It was late in September .The shadows were long on the water. My dad had me sit down stream side. Dad said: “I want to see if this year of training has sunk in.” “Tell me what you see and hear.” It seemed like a really stupid question to me. Dad said: “We are going to sit here until you tell me what I want to hear.”

I thought hard about all the things dad had been saying each time we went out this year. I thought what the heck…I will give it a try.

I see the water. I see the trees. I see the trout on the stringer. I see the BIG trout on the stringer. Dad gave me that stare and rolled his eyes again. He said: “Have you not learned anything this year?”

“Fishing is like life, if it comes too easy you will not appreciate it.” “Many times we went fishing this year and caught nothing.” “Was that an OK outing son?”…”Before I could answer. He exclaimed: “Of course it was!” “Fishing is more than catching BIG fish.” “It is being out in nature.” “It is the feel of rain on your face.” “The smells…..Seeing and feeling ……. “The Wind In The Trees.”,

I am not promising you a big trout here. I am not sure we will catch anything, but when we leave here, you will have experienced something special. Trout fishing. Fishing, not catching.”

I believe my dad started a little too early in life training me. It never did sink in. I was always amazed at the BIG trout and bummed about the less than fruitful outings.
My training was cut short in November of 1967. My teacher was unable to continue his lessons. Dad died of a heart attack. I was 10.

My fishing trips were alone then. I pedaled my bike out into the country and I tried my best to be just like dad. I was always after that next big trout. Some of the time I would sit stream side like we use to do……I would look and listen and smell. It just didn’t sink in. I had a hard time grasping what my dad had meant.

Adulthood did not change me much. I didn’t need the bike now and my trips were farther away and more frequent. On June 3rd 1989 my life changed completely . I married my beautiful wife Barb. My trips to the trout stream became less frequent and they took a serious decline when my daughter Anna was born.

I hurried Anna to become an angler. I took her out at age 5 to trout fishing. She became a mini-me. She was as crazy about the next BIG fish as I was. At age 11 Anna told me that she wasn’t going trout fishing with me anymore. She had fished for 6 years now and it was time to try something else. I was devastated. I had to leave the room when she told me.

I went back in the house later and talked with her momma. I asked Barb what I had done wrong? She said I was a little too intense with Anna and way too critical. Barb told me to give her time and be patient . She would ask me to take her again.

It was the last day of trout season this year. Anna came up to me and asked me if I would take her trout fishing. I was so happy to hear her say it…I had to turn away from her…I got misty eyed.

As we left to go….I thought about what my wife had told me…”too intense…too critical….” I thought back about my training from my dad . I needed to incorporate those lessons into our outing. I didn’t want my only child “Anna” to dislike trout fishing.

We got out of the car and went to stream side….I was about to tell Anna I was sorry and that I would be less intense and would make trout fishing less stressful. Before I open my mouth with my speech Anna spoke up:

“Dad, I really missed trout fishing with you.”…. ” The smells……the feeling of rain on my face and….. …The Wind In The Trees.”