Posted: 19 November 2008 at 2:50am | IP Logged

The Royal Coachmen landed soft and gently above the rock that bigger flows of days gone by had placed as a perfect attacking spot for the spirited beast that lie beneath. As the Coachman perfectly drifted up and down through the riffle the predator eyed its prey. The rock approached and the formidable Mr. Bow gently sipped the impersonating fly from the surface. Realizing he had been fooled the instinct took him right back into his cave under the rock. As the hook pierced his mouth, the fire grew and the fury of is strength was suddenly made apparent. Up out of water he came like a trident missile launched from the rock lair into the overcast air he flew.  Cars driving by saw nothing more than a beautiful rainbow above the water.  As he reentered the water he made a rockyesque charge upstream before looping back to the safety of the rock.  A quick pause and the struggle was back on.  A new strategy was called for and he headed down stream, the race for a new safe haven had started.  A well placed tree in the river posed a mounting problem; I headed across the stream to intercept and change his new found strategy.  As he streaked for the log I had one chance to net him but my feeble attempt just sped him faster toward the inevitable.  As he dove under the half submerged log I knew he had taken the advantage.  I followed him and believed he started to play me.  As I stepped over the natural trap I realized my waders might not be able to keep out new depth of water.  I struggled to maintain my balance and I began searching the water with hand to find the line that was now looped around a well placed log.  My hand swam through the water till I had a firm grip on the line and just as I thought I might have the advantage again he made one more run. My rod tip wrapped into the water around the log and I felt the break as if it was my arm.  Now it was hand, line and fish. I pulled him gently to the surface and could see the exhaustion had finally slowed him enough to give me my last chance.  As the net gently brought him out of the water and the sun glistened off the beautiful rainbow I knew I won this fight.  He swam gently back for the rock cave he called home and I pulled the pieces of my rod together and headed back to the truck.  That is what the beauty of the sport is, a chance to fight a formidable foe.