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The haze continues, burnishing the metallic light of August to a soft glow. The lake this evening was peaceful. And quiet.I explored tactics and techniques I haven't used for awhile--or at all. I dug deep into the corners of my fly boxes. To no avail.
A couple pulled up and carried rods and a big bucket down to the bank. He cast, and his heavy weight went Kaploop! In moments he was cranking in a nice trout. They continued to pull in trout for an hour. Kaploop! Craaaaank. Then they hauled their bucket up to the car and drove off.
I'm pretty sure they weren't using "restrictive gear." I suppose I should have been indignant. They looked, though, like maybe they were taking the fish home because they needed to.
It reminded me that some people harvest the fruits of the land in order to feed a family, and that they may resist the notion that any of the fruits should be restricted to an elite minority.
It reminded me that I could buy some worms and go somewhere and catch a bucketfull of trout if I wanted to. Maybe I will.
It reminded me that I fly fish not because I want anything to do with an elite minority, but because I enjoy the way of it. I am firmly in the vast majority that would like to catch many big trout, but I am willing to catch fewer in order to catch them the way I enjoy most. That's what makes it a "pastime," I suppose--even a way of life--rather than a trip to the fish market.
But it also reminded me that I have the luxury to do that. My children won't go hungry if I don't catch a mess of trout.
So here's my haul. It took a little caddisy wet fly, stripped. I never thought of such a little trout as a luxury before.