(A writing to Dewey Gillespie from a very respected friend AJH)
As I cast, the 12-foot leader
turned over satisfactorily. I concentrated upon achieving as quiet an entry
of the fly as possible. On about the 13th cast I watched,
fascinated, as the line cut sharply upstream through the current. “Salmon,” I
called as I set the hook.
The salmon ran right through the head of the pool and into a long smooth
glide. The Hardy, St. John released all the fly line and about 40 yards of
backing. The salmon broke water and cart wheeled in a brilliant shower of
spray as I lowered the rod tip. Moving quickly up the right side of the pool
and reeling in backing quickly, I was able to put strain on the fish again.
Feeling the pressure mount, the salmon turned and ran upstream. I followed
the fish to the bend in the river, and there we fought the remainder of the
contest. It was punctuated by short runs and head shaking soundings in 3 to 4
feet of water. This is always the best time for me. The sense of
accomplishment, which does not surface until the end is near and the thrilling
sight of this noble fish, shimmering like a newly minted coin.
I netted the 12 pound salmon, and shortly
afterwards I released it. The salmon moved away with increasing vigor. Those
of us who fly fish know the magic of this moment.
The fish was taken on a Cosseboom Special.