trout [ 7 ]
Brian Flaherty 
On a flight across the Pacific, next to me in a window seat, a Californian lawyer introduces himself. He is a fisherman, travels the world to cast a fly on water. Earlier in the year he was in Patagonia, next Christmas he is off to Iceland and the sea-trout. For now he is returning home from Taupo. Not the broad lake or the stream mouths crowded with picket-line anglers. His sport is back-country fishing, where the real  trout - smart, muscular - patrol the swift river beds. Where you need to fish the surface and beneath the swirling current, overhanging banks and submerged trees. Bugs, dry flies, muti-coloured lures - changing flies eight, maybe ten times in an hour. And monofilament line so light that half of those that strike are lost before they reach the bank. He laughs when I ask about the taste of fresh trout, cooked over a fire. His philosophy, his fisherman's code is catch and release ... it is the contest.

Trout Seven poetry and art, smart, muscular and not for the frying pan.

  © 2000

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