Trout Fishing Stuff

OMW then said that, as I look like a "trotter", that should be my subject. I must say I was taken aback, my sister Constance may have rather equine features (though a terrible gait and no wind at all), but I had always fancied that I had been graced with a very handsome visage. I was about to take Umbrage, my Sealyham terrier, and bat him (that is OMW) about the ears with him (that is Umbrage) when I heard OMW going on about "Trout". OMW will never know how near he came to being thoroughly dogged.

"Well," I said, "I'm your man, I've got two nice beats in the Highlands that I know intimately." Oh, but that would not do for OMW, it could not be the noble sea trout but must be some American species. So I asked him was it really that important. Well, in his eyes it placed somewhere between the "Great Chicago Fire" and an afternoon tea with my Aunt Edith. As he knows my Aunt Edith, I understood his sincerity, after all people actually survived the Fire, which is more than could be said for tea with Edith.

So, OMW hied himself off on holiday and I set to business. The first thing I needed, of course, was water with trout. I called a lad who owed me a favour or two, "TT", and asked him if he knew anyone willing to sell a mile or two of trout water in Montana, Idaho, or some such. He was delighted to help me, had a falling out with his wife and just happened to have some water I could have for a song. It was an exceptionally long song, sufficient to fund the purchase of a small Central American country, but I finally succeeded in procurring two miles of excellent spring creek in Montana. TT assured me that, though it was a spring creek, it would fish in the autumn as well, and that it contained a quantity of both cutthroat and rainbow trout.

OMW called the next day to see how things were coming. I told him about the waters and the trout; but he said they were probably "cuttbows" and not pure cutthroat. I was shocked! Do these American fish know nothing about consanguinity? What is the possible attraction if she is not at least a first-cousin? The blood will tell! Were these trout or Trollopes? Well, after a bit OMW said the cuttbows would be just fine and he knew I was advancing well.

TT had mentioned that the flies I would need would be in sizes 22 - 28 and that he would send some along by post. When the package arrived and I opened the flybox, all I saw were some specks of lint on the foam. How was I to tie those to a cast? Normally I would do it myself or have "Duble Sandy" (Alexander Alexander), my ghillie, fasten them for me, but Duble Sandy could hardly thread a passage these days without a dram, much less thread those flies. Besides, I had no intention of bringing Duble Sandy to my spring creeking, he always wore wool of the Harris process and when wet he smelled quite funky. Also, I couldn’t understand a word he said – whether this was a result of the Firth of Forth or his fourth fifth is yet to be explained. We communicated by gestures – I would shake my fist at him when he missed netting a fish and he would bend his elbow to indicate the time for a celebratory shot.

So I determined that those flies were quite inadequate, stalked off to the fishing closet and brought racks of trays of the prettiest sea trout flies to the table in the gun room. I spent a delightful three hours making up casts, braces of Peter Ross's, Killing Begs, Mallard and Claret, etc. in everything from 2/0 down to size 15. If they were good enough for the lordly Salmo Trutta they would suffice for those "cuttbows".

It took but a moment to determine that I would need an assortment of cane rods. Having detected the deficiency of grass spears on the American models in the closet I thought that I should go with something light. Accordingly, I tumbled out a half dozen rods ranging in length from seven to ten feet, a half dozen reel cases from the Hardy boys, and had Duble Sandy, by dint of much armwaving, apply the correct silk line to each.

So far I had the barest essentials, but as I hoped Miss Melody Poltroon might accompany me on this quest, I needs consider her needs. While I was crawling about the Montana moors, she would doubtless like to sit gracefully nearby. As it seemed unlikely that TT had furnished the entire stream with proper spectator seating, a shooting stick must suffice. I found a nice leather-covered Cheltenham adjustable that would be perfect, my only concern that, Miss Melody being rather ample in the hindquarters, I didn't want it to get stuck and her unable to pull it out, of soft ground you understand.

To carry the shooting stick and the pile of miscellany that was accumulating (which I shall record in some detail) I decided to use a Tesseract, a four-dimensional cube. I had learned of these some years ago and thought that the addition of the fourth dimension would make them suitable as luggage, as they were actually larger on the interior than the exterior. Noting that Tesseracts were not available "off the rack" I called my bespoke tailor and explained my need. Fortunately, Mr. Morris had minored in quantum physics before entering the trade and his only questions were as to dimensions, type of worsted, and delivery date.

First thing next morning Mr. Morris entered the drawing room with the handsomest gray pin-stripe Tesseract you have ever seen. With optional leather carrying handles it measured minus six inches by minus six inches and weighed a mere negative four grams. I thought to try it out with a large golfing brolly my Aunt Roche had given me, which I never intended to use but couldn't find an excuse to lose. The full four foot shaft of the brolly fit in the Tesseract quite tidily. We went outside to test it, as the midmorning rains were about to start. With the first patter of drops I reached inside the Tesseract, but I could not find the brolly in Time. It was alright in the other three dimensions, but that is of little consolation if you cannot find it in Time.

More on this subject at a later date. OMW is expected at any moment.

© Reed F. Curry 2006