A story about hooking up with a special trout : by Chris Ketchem

Another piece of good writing from our friend Chris Ketchem, Hes got the experience and the knowledge to transport us to the water where he is. Enjoy

catching a native brook trout for the first time......Native Reflection

He had not caught anything all day. He was discouraged, but not ruined.This stream was notorious for book trout and he was feeling certain. It was late in the day and sun was starting to set on the mountain stream as he was patiently casting his fly rod toward the still pool. He sneaks upstream, watching each step. He is careful not to spook the freshwater native or slip on one of the river rocks covered in slimy, green moss. Late summer in the mountains conveys a hesitance to nice weather in any sense of the word. This particular day began with warm, inviting sunshine. As the day began to expire, an unforgiving breeze would carry his fly line off its handsome course and send his caddis fly splashing down on the water’s brow. The native trout are finicky creatures and do not take kindly to this unnatural presentation of fare. The seasonal elements had no influence on this young angler. The smell ofthe young autumn air inspired another shot at a perfect cast. The next cast presented the fly beautifully and a young brook trout decided he was hungry. The hook was set and the young angler braced himself for the catch. Holding the fragile creature in his hands, he placed the trout back in his home and thanked him for his partnership in this connection between man and the nativebrook trout that originated before the angler. Anglers, such as himself, reflect on these moments that inspire them to bebetter. He will always remember this instance as the onewhere hecaught his first native brook trout deep in the mountains of West Virginia. No longer a young man, he found purpose and meaning in the hobby of fly fishing. Small mountain streams are treacherous and

formidable. When he became one with this experience, it taught him a life lesson that he was grateful was learned in such an attractive and reflective way.

Chris Ketchem 2013

And A couple bad poems from the Editor

The wind on the high prairie
blows all night,
And I only have
Whiskey and Militia Radio
for company
The sage brush preacher
tells me the country is going to hell
and please send money.

                               C.H.




Last night I dreamed
a long dead friend
and I saddled up some Grizzlies
and raced to the mountains
She won again
like she always did....

     C.h. 

Crossing the Little Big Horn
I imagined the ghosts
of a thousand painted horses
parting before me,
and the wind sounded
like the wailing of squaws
for fallen warriors     
                                               C.H.