You know there is a fish in there. You’ve carefully observed, and by years of knowledge, practice, and many hours on the river, you know that there is a fish right there, just waiting to eat your fly. The fly on the end of your line has been carefully chosen. Confidence is high. You feel lucky. You are going to catch that fish.
You make the cast. One drift, nothing. Another cast and another drift. Still nothing. Is that doubt lurking in the shadows of your mind? Nah, you’ve got this. Faith in fishing is rewarded. One more cast…
The line goes tight and you feel that first big, angry headshake. Oh yeah, this is the fish you were waiting for. The one that gets you out of your warm house in the early hours of winter mornings and compels you to stand in freezing cold water for hours on end. A couple more headshakes and you notice your rod is bent pretty far. A little line gets pulled off the reel and your heart rate doubles.
He comes up near the top and surfaces for the first time. Is it the monster you’ve imagined and hoped for? That first look, the first real honest look at a nice fish is always so special, so unique each and every time. You’d think it would be the same thing with every fish, but it’s not. The mystery and the hope of the fight keep me out on the water.
