So trouts are pretty cool fish. I know technically most people refer to the plural of trout as simply that, trout. But, I prefer trouts. It just feels better to say off your breath. I kind of feel bad after I caught so many trouts in the last four days or so. It is a really bizarre feeling to smash their heads against rocks or with the end of a utility knife so that they won't squirm and get away. I don't know why but I always feel bad killing fish, especially trouts. I love fishing, I love catching them, and unless their is a buttload of them in the water like here on my island I usually throw them back. Not lately though, I'm a trout killer. I've done slain like 7 of those suckers in the past week.
Yesterday I hiked for hours across a four wheeler trail to kill trouts. I hiked through the muddy squishy tundra to get to a trout pond upriver from my town. The most enjoyable part of the day was eating the ham and cheese sandwich, red delicious apple, reeses peanut butter cup and coca-cola lunch I packed for myself upon my arrival at the pond. Somehow the coke was still ice cold. I took my shoes and socks off and fished barefoot in the sun for 4 hours.
I lost a monster trout right away to a thrown hook, then I caught and released two baby trouts. The mosquito repellent I applied worked like a charm and I didn't get bit once. After letting the two baby trouts go I didn't catch anything for 3 hours. I had timed my walk there, it took two hours, and knew I needed to leave around 8 to safely arrive home before dark. At 7:45 a dense fog and rain clouds rolled into the valley. It got cold immediately and I still had no trouts.
I was getting pissed off not only because the witty trouts were avoiding my attempts, but also because every other cast would return a three pronged hook full of river grass and algae. The weather was about to get bad. I had hiked my butt off and caught no trouts and I needed to go home. I contemplated walking home in the dark so I could stay trout fishing longer. I started to see some trouts jump at the top of the pond. I went to the top and flicked a couple of casts into the hole. Nothing.
I said, "Skrew it, I'm outta here after this cast." Just like a charm I pulled out a big ol' trout. It fought good and I waited all day for that little bugger. I was happy I caught at least one. Then I got greedy and cast again after I splattered blood all over my cheek when I wacked the trout to death with a stick. Two more identical casts and I had landed an even bigger trout. I knocked it out with a shoe and then chopped both the trouts heads off. I gutted em' put them in a plastic grocery bag, put my dried socks and shoes on and walked home.
I was happy. Until, my butt started aching from all the tundra walking. Luckily a cool guy named Jim in a beat up old toyota truck gave me a ride from the dump into town cutting my return walk by at least a half an hour. I got home and cleaned the trouts. I fried em' up in pancake batter and ate em. As I picked the bones out of my teeth I thought "Trouts always get the last laugh, freakin' bones are so damn annoying."