A Brown of the Bow
The following story is not mine. It was written by and belongs to Mike Robertson of Calgary, Alberta. It's a brief tale about catching brown trout on the Bow River, and he gives us proof in this photo, taken by one of his friends. I've re-posted it here with his permission. To visit his site, click here.
A Brown of the Bow
By Mike Roberston, Calgary, Alberta
The alarm goes off and I jump out of bed. It’s time to go fishing again, my friends. I can’t wait. I turn off the alarm and hear that glorious morning sound of birds chirping. I wipe the cob webs from my eyes. My heart begins to race in anticipation of the day ahead.
As I step out of my truck on the banks of the Bow River, I flush a gold-breasted pheasant. It flies desperately for cover and I smile. “Nothing for you to worry about,” I tell the bird. “I’m here for the fish.”
I lean over my tackle box to tie on my first choice, a shiny gold Minnow Spinner. It’s so bright in the sun that it causes me to squint. I look up into the sky. It’s close to noon now. I’m eager to get on with the fishing.
The water is clear blue, almost ice blue, yet I am alone. There is no one around but me and some large brown trout swimming over the rocks. I cast my selection slightly upstream and allow it to sink as it swings down with the current. Anticipation of that first fish is almost unbearable at this point.
I look up to the crystal sky, blue against the backdrop of Canadian Rockies. I am happy that I’m a fisherman and have this great escape in my life free from the fast-paced hustle of city life.
Carefully, I work my offering to tantalize the big brown I imagine lying in wait underneath the surface.
As the lure tumbles over the bottom of the Bow, I cannot help but think this is where I am meant to be. Slowly I retrieve the spinner all the way back to shore and there is no trout on the end of the line.
I shrug and cast again. The spinner drops into the water, swings, takes up motion and WHAM, I’m fast into a monster brown. The line screams out of my reel and I might have lost him, but my Berkley XT monofilament is stronger than him. He bulldogs his way to the middle of the river, but I hold him.
Just as I think he’s going to come in, he turns to ride the current downstream. My rod bends sharply to his effort, but I won’t give in. Slowly I gain the upper hand. The fight is honest and pure and equal for a time, then he comes to the bank and is mine.
This guy was one tough customer. I kneel down beside him in the flowing water to administer some first aid to my new friend. I ask for the forceps but there’s no nurse around. He’s not a very good patient and won’t lie still; but I gently work the hook from his mouth.
That brown wasn’t the one in the photograph. I released him into the river without a picture. But he was just like the one you see in the photograph. Yes, I was meant to be there. Oh, the fun of it! There’s nothing in all the world like trout fishing on the Bow.
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As I step out of my truck on the banks of the Bow River, I flush a gold-breasted pheasant. It flies desperately for cover and I smile. “Nothing for you to worry about,” I tell the bird. “I’m here for the fish.”
I lean over my tackle box to tie on my first choice, a shiny gold Minnow Spinner. It’s so bright in the sun that it causes me to squint. I look up into the sky. It’s close to noon now. I’m eager to get on with the fishing.
The water is clear blue, almost ice blue, yet I am alone. There is no one around but me and some large brown trout swimming over the rocks. I cast my selection slightly upstream and allow it to sink as it swings down with the current. Anticipation of that first fish is almost unbearable at this point.
I look up to the crystal sky, blue against the backdrop of Canadian Rockies. I am happy that I’m a fisherman and have this great escape in my life free from the fast-paced hustle of city life.
Carefully, I work my offering to tantalize the big brown I imagine lying in wait underneath the surface.
As the lure tumbles over the bottom of the Bow, I cannot help but think this is where I am meant to be. Slowly I retrieve the spinner all the way back to shore and there is no trout on the end of the line.
I shrug and cast again. The spinner drops into the water, swings, takes up motion and WHAM, I’m fast into a monster brown. The line screams out of my reel and I might have lost him, but my Berkley XT monofilament is stronger than him. He bulldogs his way to the middle of the river, but I hold him.
Just as I think he’s going to come in, he turns to ride the current downstream. My rod bends sharply to his effort, but I won’t give in. Slowly I gain the upper hand. The fight is honest and pure and equal for a time, then he comes to the bank and is mine.
This guy was one tough customer. I kneel down beside him in the flowing water to administer some first aid to my new friend. I ask for the forceps but there’s no nurse around. He’s not a very good patient and won’t lie still; but I gently work the hook from his mouth.
That brown wasn’t the one in the photograph. I released him into the river without a picture. But he was just like the one you see in the photograph. Yes, I was meant to be there. Oh, the fun of it! There’s nothing in all the world like trout fishing on the Bow.
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