Saturday's Epic Fishing Trip

 Yeah, it was epic, all right.  I don't want to think about it actually, but I promised pictures, and I'm not offering up the pictures without providing some type of explanation.  Call it an excuse, or a series of excuses, if you like, but I'm just trying to answer your questions.  For instance, you may wonder: why aren't you in the pictures?  I don't see you holding up any trout, Jimmy. 

Yes, you might just say that, and you would be correct.  Let me explain.

I struck out at the crack of dawn, and Master Gibbs and I froze our asses off for a couple of hours before it warmed up.  After a while, it was beautiful.  We fished all over the Smith River in Fieldale, hole-hopping repeatedly as we weren't getting any bites.  We kept encountering other fishermen who hadn't got any bites either, but most claimed to have heard from other fishermen that they had caught several trout.  Yet we never encountered those fishermen, only fishermen who said to have encountered them.  You follow?

Anyway, I only got one bite all day.  One.  And it was really more like a nibble.  I must have fished in twenty different spots, and I used a few different baits.  I used corn, nightcrawlers, salmon eggs, powerbait, and I sacrificed my best spinner to the river.  All for nothing. 

Late in the day, Philmo showed up, and he netted three small brown trout.  Not to be outdone, Master Gibbs landed a huge brown that has to be the biggest trout I've actually seen anyone pull out of the Smith. 

Me?  I just kept at it, enjoying a beautiful day on the river.  One bite.  No, I'm not bitter.  Not at all.  It was a beautiful day, and I spent it with friends.  It's not about catching fish anyway.  It's about having fun, and I had a great time.  And I'm not bitter at all. 

Here are your damn pictures: