Within the past four or five days, I've been able to hit a few rivers in search of everyone's good friend, the trout.
I'm not picky in the sense of solely chasing a particular species of fish, especially a particular species of trout. To me, that just sounds weird. If I catch all rainbows or all browns in a day...so be it, no big deal, trout are trout. But when I start catching an array of different species, I start to take notice and appreciate our local fisheries a bit more.
After work on Friday, I hit Boulder Creek up the canyon a ways. I was able to get in an hour or so before the sun started sinking and my stomach started grumbling. I did fair. A dozen or so browns and about as many flashes, short strikes, and misses. As the PMDs started hovering above the surface for their nightly happy hour, I decided to switch to...a PMD (duh). A light enough color that i could still see it in low light, and I was keeping my drifts close. The seven-inchers were eating it up.
Just as I made up my mind to pack it in, a "sizable" fish took my #18 with a voracious rise. As I landed the 13 incher, I quickly noticed that I had a beautiful cutthroat on my line, and not a rainbow. Nice! I set him on a rock and fumbled for my camera to get a quick snap shot, but he had other plans that included not laying still and getting back into the water. So you'll just have to take my word.
A couple days later brought a day trip to the Eagle, followed by a stop at the Blue on the way home. The Eagle was so-so--which is really not how you want to describe a four-hour round trip to a superb river. Again, about a dozen fish--obviously bigger than on BC--mostly on Stimulators. They just weren't that interested in anything subsurface. But again, on one of my last casts, I set the hook on a sizable fish. Another Cutt. This one about 15 inches. And again, a quick release with no picture.
As I headed back to the car, I slipped and busted my knees. I said "shit"...really loud. If fishing the Eagle, where cleats or felt. Rubber is worthless. Like walking on snot-covered bowling balls.
On the way back, I hit a beautiful--albeit not-too-productive--stretch of the Blue. A mix of small browns and rainbows entertained me for a couple hours. Then, you guessed it, on one of my last casts, a freaking Cutthroat.
Then I fell again. I hurt today.
The coolest part; they're being caught in places that you really don't associate with catching a ton of Cutthroat. Not like the Park.
I feel like a Major League Baseball player on a hitting streak. It's my Cutthroat streak. And although I'm only at three, that's like 20 in baseball player years. Or something like that.