Probably The Most Expensive Trout In The World

I had been given a basic lesson on fly-casting in a car park in a remote setting in the mountains of British Columbia, Canada, about 6 years ago. On my return to Scotland, I rushed out to buy some fly-fishing gear (£50) and finally took the plunge (not literally yet!). Having bought an evening ticket (£14) for a local reservoir, I made my way around its shore to what I thought looked a good spot and started fishing.
I knew from the Canadian car park that there was a knack to the feel and timing - and this was what I lacked. After several casts of 5 feet which almost made it into the water, and several line tangles, nothing seemed to be going right. No fish were rising and the only rainbow was the perfect one in the sky over the reservoir (and I didn't have my camera!!).

But just as the sun set, the wind and rain stopped and many fish started feeding on the surface. "Just one good long cast" I thought. But anxiety and atrocious timing got the better of me again, resulting in 2 horrible tangles.

By the time I had unfankled the wuzzle (word my mother often used while knitting) nearest the fly it was almost dark. I decided there was no time to get rid of the second, and by far the worst knot in the line. Casting as best as the "wuzzled" line would allow, I frightened the fish away with the splash the knotted line made several times. But just as it got too dark to see, my last cast culminated in what I hoped was a rainbow trout. (Too dark to make it out and the rules were that brown trout had to be released)

So in my excitement to get back home to show off my prize, I gathered up all my gear, with fish still in the net and rod still in its assembled condition as the fankle / wuzzle would not allow its dismantlement, I climbed over the stile and made my way along the wooded path towards the car park.

But in the almost complete darkness, line and rod snagged in a tree. I reached up and felt that the line was merely caught on a twig. So I snapped the twig and the rod and line came free. Stumbling along the path and through 2 gates, avoiding some rather nasty-looking bulls in a field, I made it back to the car. It was only then, in the lights of my car, that I discovered that the twig I broke to free my equipment was actually the tip of my fishing rod which is now in the local refuse tip.

Maybe my wife will take pity on me when she tastes the fish (about 3lb) and will let me buy another rod.