Howdy, welcome to Fish'n Tales, here you'll find a few stories designed to tickle your giggle.  If you have a story you'd like to share with folks please email Bob@fishingla.com and send your story as an attachment.    Click on a title below and enjoy.

"The One That Got Away"

"One Beautiful Cougar"

"Please Accept My Apology"

"Golden Trout Wilderness"

"A Fish Story"

I read a great book recently, 'Crazy For Rivers' by Bill Barich. If I didn't know better I'd think he was blood kin the way he talks about rivers. Your local library should have a copy and if not there's always Amazon.com.

"The One That Got Away"

I was a hundred yards above the bridge near the Willowemoc Motel and had had a good morning so far, one twelve-inch brown and one seventeen-incher.

It was 8:30 in the AM. I went to take a step and found that my back foot was not coming forward. Seconds later I went head first into forty-seven degree water. I was wearing chest waders and an Orvis hooded jacket with cinched wrist's that was zipped up tight with the hood on. I only soaked my hands, face and pride. Still, it was cold.

Unfortunately, someone had let a pile of monofilament (15 to 20 pound test) go in the river (if they didn't do it by accident then I want to go on record as calling them an ignorant piece of #>?&! who should never be allowed to fish again). Pardon my symbolic French.

After unwrapping my foot and tucking the mess of line into my vest, I figured I had a little more time to fish before I headed over to the Roscoe Cafe for breakfast. That's when I saw it. Down past the bend about twenty yards away appeared to be the largest trout I'd ever seen. It rolled up and took something off the surface. I froze, not really believing what I'd seen. Then I waited.

There it was again taking something off the top or out of the film. I slowly moved to my left to get to the side of the river, so I could approach him without kicking up too much silt. The river took a sharp left at the spot where the fish was rising. I'm beginning to wonder if it really is a trout, the yellowish belly it showed as it rolled could have belonged to a carp. This fish was huge. I watched for another minute or so and sure enough he came up again almost in the same spot.

I couldn't see anything that looked like a hatch, so I blew the wet off my #16 black caddis and prayed to the trout gods. I tossed the caddis up and over about forty feet so it would swing around with the current and start its drag about the spot where I'd last seen him. I was going to fish this like an emerger. The fly started off high and, as it got closer, it began to settle into the film just like I'd planned. At this point, I believe I stopped breathing.

When the fly reached the spot, the old trout rolled up almost in slow motion and took my fly. I couldn't believe it. I raised my rod and he was on. When I travel I use a five-weight four-piece travel rod made by Orvis with a five-six Battenkill reel. This sucker had it bent in half. I even had to use two hands to keep the rod up. Not until this fish left the water did I know I had a trout for sure. It was the largest brown I'd ever seen.

Now, I'm back in the water trying to make it to the other side where the trout ran towards the road side of the river. I'm in waist high. The trout had run across and down to a large hole under the bridge. If I didn't cross here, the water would soon be to deep. I was letting the line slip through my index finger and grip until it got down to the reel, trying not to trip and fall, and working at keeping my rod tip up.

I remember thinking why couldn't someone be here with me in this freezing water in this downpour to share this monster fish. I knew no one would ever believe this. If nothing else, they could help me net it. Us "catch and release folks" like to have a witness every now and then.

As my line got to the reel it started playing out. (I keep my drag set light while I’m casting and stripping line off my reel for better line control.) I slid my little finger up against the spool to give it a little more drag and started following the trout downstream. Remember, this is the first week in May; the river is up and it's storming. I had to move real slow to keep my footing. After my second or third step this guy took off.

I've heard my reel make noise before when a fish thought he was going somewhere, but this was fantastic. My five-six Battenkill screamed. Just when I thought I was gonna get spooled, nothing. I thought I'd lost him. Then not more than fifteen or twenty yards in front of me the trout went airborne. I think I could hear him laughing.

He was coming back at me and for a second it crossed my mind he might be attacking. I started stripping line as fast as I could, arm lengths of line as fast as I could pull. No matter what, I was going to get control of this fish. Man, this is what it's all about, mano-o-fisho, or something like that.

There I was, battling not only the biggest trout I've ever seen but the elements as well. I thought I was gaining control again and then it happened. I had about seventy yards of line floating in front of me and my reel falls off my rod. Yep, my reel fell off my rod with a kersploosh and was swept quickly downstream. I think I semi-passed out because the trout woke me with a tug and after I focused I could see the floating line start straightening out as it followed my reel. I was in shock.

I was beginning to look like Jerry Lewis in one of his old films. I'm bent over, face just off the water, rod up high fighting the trout, as I'm put the line from my left hand in my mouth. I grab it again below my rod and place it under my little finger, so I can start retrieving my reel. My left arm is flailing around, I'm bent over kinda sideways, and the fish decides to go farther left towards the bank and then back right to the bank nearer me.

It was about this time the rain started coming down harder. I'm now into backing and I start yelling. With my mouth full of line I sounded like a moron. My reel appeared and I saw where the backing was tangled around the foot and handle (what luck). I grabbed the reel and stuck it under my right arm.

So, I'm standing in the river in a downpour and I look like Igor trying to imitate Quasimoto. Oh yeah, I 'm also trying to get the net off my back. The fish must have been fascinated, either that or he was laughing too hard. I could see him staring at me. I finally get my net in hand and as I turn towards the trout I assume the classic pose. Net stretched far forward, rod arm extended straight up and back, and my reel falls out from under my arm and kersploosh. Could this be a country song?

My reel takes off down river again and as it passes the trout, he turns and watches it tumble by. I say, "Screw the reel. I'm gonna net this sucker." He looks back at me, shakes his head like ‘oh no your not’ and "POING." My black caddis hits me right in the forehead. I swear the trout stared at me a little longer before he slowly turned and went to his place in the river.

That was one of the longest couple minutes of my life. It took a moment or two but, after realizing the fish was really gone, I started pulling my line in so I could get my runaway reel back, Then I started laughing. It had been a lot of fun - the most fun I'd had in a long time. As I got to the reel I looked closely at it because I thought it had broken. It hadn't. I guess the reel seat had just come loose. To this day I use little rubber O rings to snug up my reel seats.

After mounting the reel back on the rod and reeling in the line, I glanced up at the bridge to start my trek out of the river and saw there were three old-timers looking down on me. I don't know how long they'd been there, but they were all smiling as they waved. I smiled and waved back. In a way I hope they did get to see that gorgeous trout. And if they did get to see how that trout handled me that morning, I'm sure they've told this story more than I have.

That was my first morning of what was to be a fabulous five days fishing the Beaverkill and Willowemoc rivers. The time spent in and around Roscoe and Livingstone Manor was a great time indeed.

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"One Beautiful Cougar"

While I was putting on my waders and boots, I took time to enjoy my surroundings — it’s why I like going so early. The sounds of the river with daylight just a few minutes away gives me a feeling that can’t be put into words.

After suiting up I took my rod and sat back down in the driver’s seat. I've had the door open, my rod leaned up against the open door, my left leg outside the car, my right leg inside (you know the pose). The dome light was on. My coffee was on the dash and where the steam rose from the cup, it had formed an impression of a little baby's foot on the window above it.

I don’t know if I heard something or caught something moving out of the corner of my eye but, in any case, I turned my head a bit and looked over to my left and what I saw literally stopped my heart.

There about fifteen to twenty feet away was a very large cougar. I was too freaked to move. Even my tongue that was ready to lick the monofiliment on the clinch knot I was tying couldn’t move back into my mouth. I didn’t even breathe. I was sure the cougar felt the same way. We were both frozen, locked in stare down. For what seemed like forever, we held that pose.

Finally, my tongue -- seemingly with a brain of its own - began slowly sliding back into my mouth. Then it was the cougar’s turn to move. He had few options. I was on one side of the road. There was a steep natural wall of rock on the other side of the road. Would he pounce on me or simply walk away? Those were his options.

I thought about jerking my leg into the car and slamming the door. I’d probably smash my rod to pieces but at least I might be alive to buy a new one. But instead, I held steady still eye-locked with the cat.

The cougar didn’t pounce. Instead, he took a slow motion step then paused, never taking his eyes off me. He took another step, paused, another step, paused, and so on until it got to where the road met the bridge. He then looked away and dropped off the road down into the ravine that goes up into Cattle Creek.

I’d never seen a cougar before, and now not only had I seen one, but it had been up close and very personal. I was stoked. Allsicouldsay, as I clinched my fist and jerked it towards me was, "YEESSS!"

I gave the cougar a little time to gain some distance, then I finished my coffee, locked the car and very, very carefully went down and caught some trout. I don’t remember how many I caught or how big they all were, but I’ll always remember that morning as an incredibly great time.

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"Please Accept My Apology"

I was at Heaton Flats on the east fork of the San Gabriel with my son, Nick, and my friend Mike a few years ago. It was a good trip for us but I'd like to take this time to apologize to a group of teenagers that were hiking in this area. When you read this story, you'll know who you are.

My son and Mike and I were camping up here and had had a good first day of flyfishing and the sharing of jokes and good stories you tend to do on this kind of trip.

We were attacked by a large number of deer flies during an early dinner and had to finish dinner in our tent (those things happen.) Other than that except for the deer and the bear that ran through our camp late at night (Nick and I saw the deer, Mike saw the bear) nothing much happened on that trip. We did all hear the bear because it woke us up with it's bellowing. I think Mike's snoring pissed him off.

After an early breakfast, nature was calling and I set out to find a comfortable place to do my business. With toilet paper and shovel in hand I located a nice out of the way place with a slender tree that had fallen in the not so recent past. After digging a small hole and taking a seat I remember hearing the noises of the forest and thinking how weird it would be sitting there in silence.

It was a that precise moment that a group of about fifteen to twenty young teenagers came hiking around the bend that I had failed to notice was a trail. Well, surprise, surprise. I now know what it feels like to be a deer when it's caught in the head lights of an on coming car. These young folks were close enough for me to see the writing on their ball caps.

And those poor hikers expecting to see a wonderful site around every bend in the trail, well, the only decent thing we could all do was smile and wave, so we smiled and waved and that's that. They hiked on by. I finished my business. And that's why I wanted to apologize to them.

If any of you read this I'd like to say I 'm sorry, and I hope I didn't ruin your day in the forest. There. Got that out of the way.

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Let's try and remember the old saying, "leave the forest better than you found it."  I always take a small sack, a plastic grocery sack with me and on my way out I fill it with trash.

Golden Trout Wilderness

Man o man did I have fun recently up in the Cottonwood Lake area fishing for golden trout.  I went up for a couple of days and caught a bunch of little goldens and saw what the wilderness should look like every where.  Clean.  No garbage. I mean absolutely no garbage.  Everywhere I hiked and fished it was clean and fresh.  The air was cold and clean and there was even ice on the stream when I first started fishing.

The first day I fished out of Cottonwood Creek and caught an 11 incher, a couple of 9 inchers, and a bunch of little ones.  I used #16 olive caddis' and a #16 yellow Wulff to catch them all. They weren't very picky. The following day I fished down below Horseshoe Meadow where the two small streams meet and get a little deeper and wider.  The fish here were much smaller and much harder to catch.  All in all I haven't fished a place that pristine in a very long time.  I've been to Europe, most of the states, and almost all the state parks and forest's and I've always seen cans, cigarette butts, empty sacks, (that one always gets to me), you name it, you see it but up there, we be talking clean.

Before going up I called the local fishing and sporting goods store for some info and Jeff at Lone Pine Sporting Goods was very helpful.  He told me exactly where to go and and practically guaranteed I'd catch fish.  He was right on all accounts.  Thank You Jeff !  Even if you don't call Jeff before going up stop in and check out the store.  It's just this side of the only red lite in town.  He's got about anything you need for hiking, camping, backpacking, and fishing.  If you'd like to call Jeff before going up his number is 760-876-5365.

I found Lone Pine to be a quaint little town where the folks are nice and laid back.  A far cry from the hassles of Los Angeles.   The drive up, out of LA north on 5 to the 14 to the 395, it's that simple and only around 190 miles so you're there in 3 hours or less.  To me it's not a pretty drive but well worth it to catch a golden.  
And for the love of nature don't take any damn garbage with ya.

A Fish Story by Charlie Rubino

When I was fourteen I spent part of the summer working on a dairy farm outside of Newport, Vermont. I helped milk the cows, clean the barn, and punch bales of hay, in addition to any general labor required to operate the farm. 
The work was hard but it was good to be outdoors, and Vermont was beautiful. Mornings came early and it took this kid from New Jersey time to adjust to the rural lifestyle. 
One morning, before the hard work began, the farmer took me fishing at one of the local lakes. He brought along a friend of his, a self-proclaimed expert fisherman. The early morning sky hadn't yet cleared and a gray, misty cloud hung over the lake and reflected in the water. 
The air was still cool as we slid the aluminum boat into the still waters and slowly motored out. I was tired from the early start and the low drone of the motor, combined with the gentle rocking of the boat, made me sleepy. When the farmer suggested that I lie down and take a nap, I curled up in the middle of the boat and fell asleep. The silence was periodically interrupted by faint sounds of casting lines and an occasional fish being reeled in. 
After a while I decided to get up and try my luck. Within a few minutes I had a strike. My rod bent and the line whirled out of the reel. The farmer's friend grabbed for my rod while shouting to the farmer that the fish was too big for me to handle. "Let him be," answered the farmer. As I fought the fish, the farmer gave me advice and encouragement while the friend continued complaining that I was going to lose it. Finally, I pulled the fish close enough to the boat for the farmer to get the net on it. It was a huge trout. "Good catch," said the farmer. His friend scowled in silence. 
With a deep sense of satisfaction, I curled up in the middle of the boat and went back to sleep. As I drifted off I heard the farmer's friend complain, "Damn city kid! Sleeps all day and catches the biggest fish!"

                                                                     Charlie a "few" years ago.

For instructional books or videos on fishing, hiking, camping 
or just about anything outdoors visit Amazon.com.

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