Why Are You So Obsessed?

I love fishing and I have come to really love fly fishing or flyfishing. I'm not sure which form is exactly correct but my Word2003 dictionary says the latter is not correct. I'll leave it. A few years ago my wife and I and another couple spent a week at the Lazy M Ranch, owned and operated by Maggie and Lane Moore, near Caroline Alberta. Part of the week was spent at their camp in the foothills, beside Cutoff Creek, a famous brown trout creek. The creek was fed by snow melt from the mountains and it cut through a clay plain to form a crystal-clear, ice cold winding conduit of the purest water imaginable. Besides brownies, there was, as we now know, a tiny population of bull trout protected by all the laws and regulations the Province of Alberta had time to pass before we got there. All fishers should know the regulations.

Bill was cook and caretaker for Moore’s at the Cutoff Creek camp. He baked great apple pies. Bill wasn’t really a fishing guide but he did show us where the fish were at and he was sure it was a brown trout I had caught. You couldn’t argue with Bill. He was too gentle.

Ranger Dave was a bona fide Alberta forest ranger and newly-vested game warden. He had been in the mountains with his two mules for the previous two weeks and just happened to come out when I had caught THE fish.Here's the story in cowboy poetry form.

Bull Trout Bill © 2010 by Stargeazer

At Cutoff Creek they tell the tale About an Eastern dude Who thought that he would fish a spell To supplement his food. This dude had read a lot of books And filled himself with learning And catching trout in this-here creek Became his greatest yearning. So up he went with rod and vest And flies and creel and hat And Bill from Moore’s said he would show Him where the fish were at. The creek ran cool and deep and clear And flies were hatching strong The mountain sunshine sparkled bright And nothing could go wrong Before too long the trout came out And took to eating flies, The dude tied on an olive dun And cast into their lies.

Then suddenly right at the bank A trout took up the bait, The dude just barely set the hook Before it was too late He fought it ‘til it fought no more And then he hauled it in When Bill said “That’s a brown trout, son As nice as one there’s bin.” As quick as luck comes it’ll go And spoil the greatest thrill, Like when the mules and Ranger Dave Arrived from up the hill. He eyed the dude, he spied the fish, The air was thick and still, And then the ranger, somewhat vexed Said, “That’s a bull trout Bill.” So now the Eastern dude has learned To fish with hand-tied flies And each day Bill goes to the jail To bring him apple pies.