After months of intense preparation my girlfriend and I finally boarded our flight at DIA to venture to my homeland of Montana. There we would enjoy a nice week away from high-speed internet, iphones (damn-it), and other “annoyances”. While I was planning on fishing some of the nearby waters of my youth I stumbled upon what I call The Running of the Bulls. The trout fishing ended up being lackluster but we did manage to have quite a good time chasing around the Char species in some cold mountain lakes. The woman actually was the first to bring one in the boat.
I strung up her rod and gave her a few fleeting words of advice as she was looking over my fly selection. She picked a white streamer because she thought it would “work better” (it did). Her first cast was in the water and to my utter amazement after strip number two I heard a splash and her say, “I think I got one”. A large boil accompanied shortly thereafter with a strong run that took 30 feet of line got my attention. After a well fought battle I brought the fish to hand where I learned that this was in fact her first fish ever.
Needless to say this brought about a furious obsession for me that lasted the remainder of the trip.
While I spent the better part of four days trying everything I could to keep pace with my
competitor girlfriend she managed to read a novel and catch a few more just
to remind me of my place in the animal kingdom. She did have enough of a soul to inform me that her father had given her some basic casting instruction as well as bored her to tears with fishing stories when she was a kid. She claimed she had some experience but I’m pretty sure she was just trying to make me feel better. If you need me I’ll be suffering alone in the basement.
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