Mustang love made me laugh a grand belly laugh!!!
I loved it. I hope no one minds a story here. I know that poetry is the norm but like other Stock subjects please just consider this an off topic post.
All Wigged Out
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It was a beautiful spring day in Denver. My best fishing friend and I decided that we should enjoy what Colorado had to offer. We decided to take a drive from Littleton up to the famous Waterton canyon section of the South Platte river and wet our lines. We had spent the previous evening tying some new creations especially for the hatch we expected to encounter the next time we ventured up into the canyon waters. Our favorite flies were the gold ribbed hares ear tied with a swanundaze casing, hackled, dubbed with olive bodies. For dries we tied the caddis with a hackled body to help float the fly in the turbulent pools of the monster rocks encountered below the dam.
We loaded all of our rods and began our pilgrimage to the holy land of flyfishing nirvana. Years of dry casting in front yards and streets had honed our skills of flycasting to the point where we could drop a 12 foot leader tipped with a size 18 fly into the center of a 12" diameter ring at a distance of 40 to 50 feet. Bernie (my fishing guru partner) and I talked about the presentations we would fish on the way up Deckers canyon. We had scouted our area through the winter and had taken some trophy size Deckers "Bows" during the winter using a short line dead drift method. We knew that we had the juice and the equipment to outsmart any fish encountered on this heavily fished strip of deep holed water.
When we arrived at the entrance to the trail headed up towards the canyon we noticed that we certainly were not alone in our thought of landing a arm tiring load of Bows. It is then we made the decision that would give us our most memorable fish tale that we have to this day. The two of us have encountered rattlesnakes, snapping turtles, copperhead and water moccasin on our various fishing expeditions across the U.S. but that one decision we made was to put us in front of our most expensive and dangerous adversary to this date. We decided to go downstream a short distance and fish upstream to give some of the less seasoned fishermen a chance to strike out against the fish up in the canyon. We figured about three hours should give the other fishermen ( and women) enough time to tire of casting to the smart trout and go home and then we would venture up into the canyon and knock em' dead.
We parked about a mile downstream and began fishing up the Platte. The pools had some nice browns and a few good sized rainbows but the heavy concentrations of fish had been thinned by the bait dunkers and worm drowners that frequented these easily accessed areas of the river. After an hour and a half of decent fishing we fished up to the boundary fence of the "WigWam Club" and stood there at the edge of this forbidden water and looked across and upstream into a large deep pool and noticed a nice hatch of Caddis dimpling the surface of the water. Every time a fly would dimple the surface a large rolling boil of water would break behind the fly and a Bow of trophy size with a fin like a great white would break and "sup" the fly into its toothy mouth.
We both looked at each other and we began to make arguments with each other like trial lawyers arguing a case against the supreme court of the land as to why it was against all moral code and rights to fence off perfectly freeflowing water into forbidden zones which were impenetrable by the masses of common fly fishing aficianados. After a few minutes of rational and clear thinking on our parts we had both decided that we being the common variety of fly fishing fans and strict catch and release men (except in the case of recordholder size fish!) that we did certainly have a good argument as to why we should indeed cross this flimsy borderline of rusty barbed wire and no trespassing signs.
The crossing was easy. One leg then the other and we had joined the ranks of the privileged. We had stepped into the world of exclusivity and selectivity. The heavy monetary price that others of the world of higher rank and economic privilege paid to enter this private nirvana of flyfishing was given to us by slowly placing one foot through and then the other across this easily broached border. A strange sense of quiet was encountered as we entered this magical realm. It was like the common world ended at that fence and once on this hallowed ground all of the grass was coated with diamonds and the water seemed to have flakes of gold dust floating and dancing just below the surface of the water giving the water and rocks an irresistible allure. It was like being turned loose in the dressing room of a Victoria's Secret fashion show and being told you had to help the models get into their fashion clothes and ready for the runway. We both began fishing the pools like goldpanners panning for gold in the mother lode of grubstakes.
Seconds seemed like hours. The practiced skills of presentations to circles on pavement became tightly looped soft drops to rising trout of immense size. Every movement was in slow motion and every muscle tightened to an exquisite dance of lift and push presenting hand tied works of art to a quarry that was eager to attack and run. Every cast hooked into liquid dynamite which burst from the water shaking and tearing at the fly tearing line from reel and creating a cacophony of sound and action. Reeling, giving line, running to head the trouts move. Picking rodtips high, pulling and reeling, letting line strip and then the final landing and releasing of fish only to do it again and again and again. Over and over we pulled fish from pool thinking we had exhausted the supply of immense fish only to find another and another and another. Soon our arms ached and backs spasmed from the assault of these fish against our rods. I decided that it was time to rest and leaned back against the rocks lining the bank of the river.
It was then I noticed the truck driving down along the river a short distance upriver. I sprang from my rock hiding place and ran to warn Bernie of our approaching justice. I got to the river just as Bernie was loading a trout which would break any world record I was aware of into the back of his fishing vest. He had decided that one could not get away. I yelled as loud as possible that we could make the fence if he would give his fish up and run for the safety of our common world. His eyes were glazed over with the moments and the fish and the golddust look of the water. He had become drunk with the sense of specialness we had encountered. I looked over his shoulder and turned to run for my freedom just as I heard " Freeze or I will shoot your sorry ass! "
I turned and looked over my shoulder and saw a grizzled cowboy with a shouldered 30-30 saddle rifle aimed in our general direction. I yelled back, " You wouldn't shoot and unarmed fisherman! " and he just answered, " Try me. ". I decided that this old fart would probably do it and gave up my quest for freedom. Bernie came to his senses and the spell was broken. We slowly walked to his truck. He made us climb in the back and we were taken to the trespassing commoners holding area of the WigWam Club to await the arrival of the Jefferson County Sheriff Deputy. We were forced to sit on a bench with a sign Tresspassers above it. When the Sheriff arrived the old cowboy and Deputy stood and told trespasser jokes and stories and laughed at us.
We endured the humility of being caught and hazed and were handed pink slips of paper identifying us as class three illegal trespassers and given a court date to appear in County Court in Golden to receive our justice and sentencing if found guilty of the prescribed offense. What defense could we make? We were a few hundred feet inside the boundary and caught with rod in hand. It would be hard to say that we were just passin through as our flies were tattered from the beating the WigWam trout had given them. The one fish Bernie had "acquired" had not been discovered and that was in our opinion good because we figured that if they found it we would probably be arrested for murder in addition to trespassing. Our humility was complete when the Sheriff took us three miles upstream and dropped us off telling us to walk back to our vehicle four miles downstream.
The day came for our appointed time to appear before the county magistrate and we decided that the only defense that we had was the argument we had discussed prior to crossing the rusty fence on that fateful spring day. Being common type flyfishermen we both agreed that just being good fishermen would be a fact smiled upon by any court of the land and that we would appeal to the outdoorsman within the judge.
Our docket time was announced and we noticed that a drug dealer was to be tried before our appearance and we thought that was a good omen. Such evilness would appear before the court and the judges vengeance would be meeted out upon this villain of society that was dispensing addiction to the children of the town and the judge would then find these two poor working class fishermen innocent for reason of lack of sufficient funding to enjoy the true simplicity that free flowing water had to offer. We began to feel better and our fear was subsiding knowing that justice would smile favorably on us.
The drug dealer took to his defense table and his attorney asked the judge for a meeting at the bench. The judge agreed and the defense, prosecutioner and judge met and a whispered discussion began while the court quietly waited. After a few minutes the attorneys each retired to their respective positions and the judge slammed the gavel down and declared, " I find the defendant guilty of possession of a controlled substance and fine him 125 dollars and release him to pay the clerk.
Bernie and I looked in amazement at each other and smiled. We knew that we would be vindicated. We could hear the judge saying, " You good old boys just go on your way and promise not to do it again, next time run!!!! ".
His honor read our charges and then asked us to step forward. We each took our place at the defense table and his honor asked, how do you plead? We both held our heads low and told the judge, "Your honor, we were on that land but it was just such a beautiful day. We wondered what was just around that next bend and really did not think we were doing anything wrong. We promise to never step across a rusty barbed wire fence again your honor."
Bernie and I both looked up slowly for dramatic affect and when we did we faced the look of a grizzly bear about to bite into the head of a trapped lamb. The judges eyes were red. His face had become distorted with anger. He was grinding his teeth and was twitching in his huge oak chair. He leaned forward and I thought to myself that if he were allowed would spring from his bench and grab us by the throat choking what little air we had left in our lungs from our common throats.
He began speaking in a low growling voice. " I have owned land along the river for years. I have fished my river for years and years. Every now and then some good for nothing som'bitch comes on my property and wears my trout out and then usually takes the best and the biggest with him over the fence when he leaves. You boys are the worst sort of criminals that this court faces! I out'ta lock you two up and take your fishing gear and never let you have a license as long as you draw breathe! I find both of you GUILTY of trespassing in the worst way and fine you each $375 payable today. If you don't pay today you will stay in our iron bar motel till you do! Now you both get out'ta my sight before I lock you up! ".
Nope, the snakes and turtles of the wild don't scare me a bit. Tis the law of the land that I have learned to keep a sharp eye peeled for. Justice is blind some say. I say justice sees just fine. Saw us that day fishing on his land.
Will I cross another rusty fence. Only the trout will know for sure. The price was paid. We figure that trout dinner we shared the evening of the trespassing cost us about $150 per pound. Sure tasted good for the price.
You never know when we will be crossing another boundary. Even if it only exists in our minds.
Bill on the Hill
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