“That fish is happy.”
I looked over at Doug with the kind of puzzled expression that one would make if the definition of a recently heard word was elusive. But I knew what fish were. And I knew what happy was. I just couldn’t wrap my mind around how these two terms had any relation to each other such that Doug would order them together in a sentence the way he did.
While I later came to the conclusion that he did not utter this sentence with the sole intention of getting a rise out of me, he did quickly perceive my bewilderment. Probably because I didn’t talk. I usually talk.
“Look at it. That is a happy trout.”
We had been fishing the small limestone stream for the better part of the day. Fish were caught; none so remarkable as to remember. It was the kind of day that comes with a certain frequency of fishing. An average day. But a good day. The late spring conditions proved ideal for any kind of angling a person would want to engage in. Trout took streamers, nymphs, and dry flies. They weren’t taking them with reckless abandon. In fact, they manifestly spurned any presentations that were reckless.
Reckless presentations are often the result of desperation as much as they are the product of some deficiency in skill. In such instances defined by the former, the best solution involves a reset. You must stop in order to stop doing what you’re doing that you’re doing poorly. Otherwise your fishing will be as convoluted as that last sentence.
