fishbeer

Jan 16 2011 4:47 pm

brown trout, phone sex, beer

I was resigned.  I fished this same run three days ago and hooked two fish in it.  One was a big brown.  Broke both off because I suck at fishing.  Actually I think it was because I hadn’t tied a knot in like 18 days and when I tried to snell the hook with 8lb flouro I must have done it wrong.  Twice.  Then I fished it again a couple days later and didn’t touch a fish. 


So there I was again, third day out of five.


I started at the top under the tree and swung through a few times then stepped down.  When I finally got to the magic spot it happened.  Exact same spot.  Then I took about thirty absolutely terrible photographs of said fish.

 
I was sitting on the couch, fat, watching TV after overeating and over drinking and over chewing.  The last thing I expected when the phone rang was to see her name.  I almost didn’t pick up.


“Hello?”  I said halfheartedly.  

  
“Hey.  I just sent you an email.”


“OK.”  I check my email.  She’s lifting her heel and looking over her shoulder.  She’s about perfect. 


“I had a dream about you last night.  We were fucking.”


Victory’s Hop Wallop is just as hoppy as I remember it, but a lot sweeter.  Still a bit of lingering, acrid bitterness, but a much better experience than the last time I had it.   Then I worked on my Manistee Fishing report SEO skills a little bit.

 

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