Something punched the river from under the surface, my line is snapped tight. My arms are thrown forward and I’m grabbing at the rod I already hold.

Everything goes instantly to slow motion. One Heavy wet snowflake hits my left eye. I smear it with my sleeve. The pulsing rod slamming is real. I’m in the frigid chest waders.. Rushing river water pounding the noise to my ears. My parka and hooded sweatshirt are not preventing chills through me. Im here, its me, this is real.

Guys fishing next to me yield position in the stream. An unspoken code is now being honored. My unvoiced prayer is prayed. Lord please, please, let me catch this fish. The rod is engineered to handle whatever I’m hooked into and I haul back on the graphite because this fish just earned a smack in the jaw. Hook set hard, it does not even dent the upstream rush of the fish.

I know, and the other guys watching know, this is the fish. My rod is bent full over, and I mentally click stuff off, the yarned hook, the way I tied the knot, I remember checking the leader. It should all be good. I tied this fly. I want this fish.

I hold the rod high, and hard back against the strain. At the same time I’m unfolding my wool mitts so I can get my finger tips around the line and rod grip. Direct contact. The trout is headed for the bottom and stops. He is now self anchored and shuddering in the upper third of a long pool. He’s thinking. Sitting on the bottom and thinking.

When I start to pull on the rod to wear against him he answers with a rip of forty feet. Line just slaps at the water. An instantaneous whip crack and for an exclamation point of time, river water is suspended mid air. A falling silver thread of water where the line was melts back into the downstream flow.

I cannot see the fish but its coming down stream and I’m snatching three foot sections of line as its going past. It’s a bounding and tumbling downstream pace. As the trout passes all gears quickly shift into reverse. Six inches of line, then a foot. I let slip line as the fish is going tugging, grudgingly downstream.

Shuffling along the bank I pass one of the guys coaching me. His big hoop net is coming off his back. He thinks I’m going to win. I exhale. A short run and drifting back. A flared run to the far bank, and drifting back. I can’t prove it, but I think the fish refelt the hook. It explodes up the river and all I gained is gone and my reel is ratcheting loudly.

The trout is now being sucked downstream. Pulling and release, a short run I tighten, it lunges, and I loosen line. The fish is wearing down and being guided to my side of the river in a fish fulcrum. The rod tightened line in my hands against the current swings the fish slowly. It’s a heavy fish.

Line slide’s slowly through my fingers and the partially seen silver is being backed into the net. It’s cheating because the fish has no idea it’s laying under and behind him. When the net fabric scoops the fish clear of the river, I shiver.

Its all smiles now and I have three guys shaking my hand and jostling me. They new this was a biggy for me. I get as close to a one arm hug from Mark, as two guys fishing will tolerate. No tapes or scales but we guess the fish will go a solid eleven pounds.

Knocking some snow off my shoulders I reach into my vest. I open my fly box and dole out one to each guy. One of MY, red yarn, spawn flies, that I tied.

The trout whisperer

Inside the Mind of a Guide

Living the Dream in God's Country - Superior National Forest

Join author, professional guide, and master storyteller, Karl "Trout Whisperer" Seckinger, as he takes you on a 20 year, mystical journey into the Superior National Forest.

On this CD, Trout Whisperer's unique manner of storytelling, and digital sound effects, will transport you on a journey that will place you in the heart of the 'super natural forest' that is known as the Superior National Forest.

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