Not many fish allow you to break off a fly on the hookset while they still take another fly just five minutes and three drifts later. It takes a special kind of stupid for that to happen.
I eased into the oars and slid the banana boat into position when we first saw PA Gold. The yellow craft was like a beacon of hope to the mutant. He swam under and around it and into perfect position, no doubt waiting for his pellets, bread bits, Oreo crumbs, Cheerios, bubble gum or Copenhagen spit . . . any and all of which he’d grown accustom to in Palomino Paradise, for he certainly originated from this watery palace.
But Pat gave him too much mustard on the first hook-set and snapped him off clean.
Any animal with a measure of self-respect would have sulked off under a deep log for a good long time. Not PA Gold.
“Thank you, sir. May I have another.”
Why, certainly you can. We backed up, rigged up and chucked upstream the killer of all Pally killers . . . the Green Weenie.
Pat spread the mustard lightly this time. And the joy of all children, April fishermen, spinnies and hobbyists was firmly hooked.
In all our excitement we forgot to blow the battle horn.
Enjoy the day.
T R O U T B I T T E N