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"Mouse Tales" by Wayne JansenLike anyone who takes a fly rod to a stream, I am filled with anticipation and excitement. Not only does the day promise to fulfill some inner need to experience nature at its finest, but it also allows me to hone my skills at a imitating a fly fisher. It was just such an early August day that I arrived at one of my favorite central Alberta trout streams. I had giving myself the task of thoroughly enjoying myself on this small stream, hopefully by catching a few trout, and also by trying to improve my Reach Casting abilities. I promised myself this beautiful morning that I would attempt to imitate the pros of our fine sport by throwing my fly around every corner, every rock, and every leaning tree branch that I suspected my quarry to be hiding. I entered the stream and had not waded more than 5 minutes when I noticed a small dimple interrupt the surface. A sneaky trout was slurping some bug right under a small inward leaning fir tree. It was in just the right location to attempt my first "on purpose" Reach Cast. I pulled about 25 feet of fly line from my reel and began a few dry casts to gauge the distance. When I thought I was close I made one more to direct the fly at the tree. As the fly sailed toward the target I pushed my left arm (my casting arm) in an outside motion while at the same time turning my wrist in the same direction. All of those articles I had read on the subject would surely pay dividends in providing me with a perfect unrehearsed Reach Cast. Instead the fly sailed directly into the branches! Somewhat cooked I tugged the line and promptly pulled a small chunk of old branches out of the tree and into the stream, sending the frightened trout to parts unknown. Discouraged, I left the stream to maneuver around the tree and to check on the condition of my fly. It needed replacement. Not a great start, one lost trout hooking opportunity, one damaged fly and certainly one damaged large ego! After walking several minutes I began to forget about the fiasco and started to tie on a second fly. That's when I heard the unmistakable sucking of a trout snout. Although I didn't see the rise, there were rather large rings propagating from my side of the shore to the opposite side of the stream. I lowered my profile and crept up to the stream bank. From my knees I sent the best side arm cast I could muster down along the near bank edge. The fly did not float more than a foot when wham, a classic brown hookup. I pulled him from his hidey hole. I pulled him from the deep run he screamed into, I pulled him from a weed bed on the opposite side of the stream and finally I pulled him into my net! The water surface was about two feet below my feet, not the best location to free my latest victim, so I gathered trout, net, and rod and rushed several yards downstream to a gravel bar. The first job was to measure him and so I laid him beside my rod. From the tip of the rod butt to the "T" on my "6 WEIGHT" stencil measures 18 inches. This trout touched both marks, a very nice fish for this small stream. I admired him one more time and began removing the hook. At this point I noticed some sort of chenille or other fly tying material sticking out from his mouth. I thought about the incredible fight he had put on while being hampered by this parasitic man made material hanging from his gullet. I began to pull on it but it would not move. I pulled harder and the outer soft hairs pulled off. What remained was a chalk white cone shaped material. It was then that I realized what this material was. Staring me in the face was a MOUSE TAIL! This guy had very recently gulped a mouse so big he could not get the tail home and yet he slammed my stimulator like he was starving to death! As I let the fish slowly slip from my hands I thought about how this sport can at times be so fickle. Only a few minutes before I was rather disgusted at how my poor casting had cost me an attempt at a fish, and now, here I was elated at letting a once in a life time hook-up back into his world. Boy you just gotta love this sport!
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