There's a new holiday on my calendar: July 11, National Alaskan Mouse Day.
What, why? I'll tell you why.
Two nights ago I woke up at five p. m., had my first IPA fully consumed by 7:30 p. m., and got out on the Brooks River at 8:00 or so. I was accompanied by my new friend Dan Cole who is a session guitarist, an adventurer in inflatable boats, and a mad fly-fishing fanatic. Basically a younger me, but with talent. It's important that he was there to bear witness, since my camera was drowned by the splashing of a
31-inch lake rainbow.
Tied on the end of my 12# tippet was a
Moorish Mouse. I didn't know it at the time, but this pattern is a favorite of Troy Letherman, editor of Fish Alaska magazine and one of the few editors alive who ever published anything I wrote. But don't hold that against him; he's right about
the pattern.
I had vowed earlier in the day, after a morning session that included obscene numbers of beautiful rainbows taken on leeches, buggers, and stimmies, to fish only and exclusively with a mouse. We had already seen the damage a large bow could do to a foam tarantula, tearing it into pieces after a savage grab. It is held in legend that they will do the same to a mouse pattern, and I wanted to try it. I fully expected to switch back to a leech after my patience running out.
My patience did not run out. In fact, the overriding emotional response, at least for the first few fish, was giddy, giggly, girly hilarity. I felt, "wait -- is this really happening? Are 18-24 inch rainbows actually following this ridiculous ball of deer hair and foam as it wakes away from the bank, nipping at it once or twice, and then gulping it completely down? And then jumping and running like any rainbow caught on any dry -- which as some of us know, is one of the more spectacular items in the list of Why We Fish?"
And oh yes, it was happening. About ten fine fish that way, in the course of a glorious hour. At one point Dan heard some more splashing from my direction and called out, "Are you still using that mouse?"
"Actually, I only EVER use mice anymore" was the giddy response.
Dan had a living camera, but of course had left it back in camp. He did that so regularly during our fishing sessions that I think he must agree with me when I say that cameras are nice so that you can share your experiences, but are also nasty because they kind of water your experiences down. I had pure, unphotographed, intoxicating mousing. And I know that when Dan is back to civilation and computers, he will corroborate my story. Considering his Alaska gusto, I'd be surprised if we don't end up mousing together again someday.
We went back out after couple more 11:30 beers and some pleasant flirting with Laney and Linda (you can, and we did, fish until 1:30 or so) and guess what: no action on the mouse at all. Dan got a few with streamers, proving they were there; and I got zippo with the mouse, proving that all good things must end.
But now I know it can happen, and now I know what it feels like. If you want to try and bring a special, symphonic finale to a fishing, kayaking, and Brooks-camping trip that has already been basically an extended ecstasy, then having a Mouse Day is the only way.
Trust me.
