I have a tale to tell you, And I use no alcohol, About that giant trout you see There hanging on my wall.
The stories that are told around Test one’s imagination, So let me tell you this, firsthand, Without exaggeration.
The day I landed that big fish, I’ll not forget, last spring. The pools were dark and dimpled With the mayflies taking wing.
The purist would have taken pains To maximize his catch By searching through his flies to find A pattern for this hatch.
But in my years of fishing, I have learned to use, instead, A big night crawler, hooked real good, And half an ounce of lead.
I waded out into that pool So I might get out past The alders and the undergrowth, So I could make my cast.
In water deep and murky With those little flecks of foam, I knew that it was here where that Old squaretail made his home.
With great anticipation Of a trophy candidate, I doused myself with fly dope, Then I offered up my bait.
And in a few short seconds That old crawler disappeared Beneath a foam fleck by a stump That I had barely cleared.
And when, on my retrieval, That old fish line came up taut, I thought that I had bottom, Or some sunken log I’d caught.
I floundered out up to my waist And reeled in all my slack, Then reached down to that riverbed To get my fishhook back.
And when I got down to that barb, Below that chunk of lead, I didn’t find that I was snagged But found that trout instead.
And when I poked him in the eye, That fish became enraged. Then I got both hands on my pole, And battle was engaged.
That well-hooked brookie made a run That made my fly reel sing. The smoke that poured out from the drag Caused my poor eyes to sting.
He crossed that pool in nothing flat And left an awful wake. It drowned three partridge on the shore And made the trees there shake.
He wrapped that fish line ‘round my leg And headed for deep water, And I would not be here today If I was too much shorter.
And as he towed me ‘round that pool, Things started looking grim. The chance of my survival there Was looking mighty slim.
But God was looking down on me, For then there did arrive A woodsman going to his job In his Jeep 4-wheel drive.
He saw me thrashing for my life Out in that fishing hole, And he was stunned by all my antics With that line and pole.
He stood a moment on the bank Assessing all the facts, And then he jumped into the fray With peavey, saw, and ax.
It wasn’t very pretty, But between the two of us, We finally got the better Of that monster square tailed cuss.
So after that encounter, And I got all my repairs, I then went after safer game Like hunting grizzly bears.