Narrative

       Catching the Cunning Cutthroat

        The holiday season was upon me again, the snow was falling, family from all around was gathered in one place, and the sound of carolers could be heard through the cold night. But just like every Christmas, it meant we had to do one thing, write our annual family Christmas card. And every year my dad would ask me the same question, "Barrett, what are your goals for this next year?" Usually every year I would have to think and give the average old answer like get good grades or learn to ride a bike. But instead I told him, "My goal this year is to catch a Cutthroat trout." Cutthroat trout have a red stripe that wraps around their gills and head just as if they would have a cut on their throat. I have never caught one before so it became even more of an incentive to catch one. I remember finding it online as one of four native trout in the United States, and from then I had to catch the trout. Little did I know how rare they are and how very few rivers and ponds have them. But I knew with a little determination and help from my father, the cutthroat would be mine.
         So there I was, ten years later then, hiking down the side of The Rocky Mountains on a nice cool morning. The sun was barely coming over the tall Ponderosa pine trees. As I walked, I could not concentrate on anything, because I was half asleep, and the only thing I could hear was my little brother nonstop voice saying, "How long is the hike? Is the pond coming up soon? Why didn't I eat breakfast? Barrett, did you bring any food?" His voice would sometimes stop, but that was only when Dad would hush him. But that was usually only to take pictures of wild turkey, deer, or elk.
         The hike was pretty strenuous, and the weight of the vest and poles was wearing on me. But right before I was about to complain, we ran into a fork in the road with a sign that said, "Left for Rock pond, Right for Brook pond". My dad said, "According to my research, we want to head left towards Rock pond." So walking onto the left trail, we came across a clearing, and this small pond, not comparable with the bigger lakes and reservoirs in the region, was setting nice and still in the clearing. Three big rocks in the middle of the pond left shelter for the fish, and the pond was half shaded by a seemingly 1000 foot ledge, just to the other side of the pond. In the crystal clear water, we could see the fish cruising the shallows of the pond looking for food.
         Seeing the fish, we strung our fly-poles as fast as we could. I put on a fly that is intended to imitate a grasshopper; it had a brush looking head with pheasant feathers tied to the hook. I had caught many fish on it before, but I never could see how it could possibly look like a grasshopper. I started by casting along the shallows and into the middle of the pond. I felt if the fish were anywhere they would be under the rocks. I wasn't wrong but I wasn't the only one who thought as I did. The apple doesn't fall to far from the tree, and in this case the tree wasn't far from the apple. My dad would real in a rainbow or brown trout every other cast with the same fly. I heard him time to time, "Take some lessons Son!" then he would giggle his little laugh and move on to catch another fish.
        Getting irritated at how the fishing was going, I moved towards the ledge and decided to give the shade a try. The anticipation was killing me and I was losing my patience. It took about all my mind power to not take my pole and break it over my knee. The frustration on my face could have been seen by a blind man. I continued anyways and gave my line a cast right into the shade. Then, without missing a beat a floop sound came and a trout hit the fly right on the top of the water. I pulled my pole back as hard as I could all the while yelling, "Wahoo!" I pulled the fish a shore and held it up admiring it.
        The twelve inch trout was beautiful, with a red band around its head, white underbelly, pink stripe down the side, and miscellaneous dots running up and down the fish. I knew immediately it was a Cutthroat trout. I had a sense of accomplishment well up inside me and it was only so much more gratifying when I watched the trout swim back into the water.