Last week I promised you a story. The story is about a fellow who has caught plenty of large fish in his time. To listen to him you would think that all he catches is fish that are about thirty inches and weight eight pounds. This story is about a fish that puts all the others to shame. By his own confession, this was the largest brown trout - maybe it should be Mr. Brown Trout, Sir - that Mark has every caught.

This particular story will tell the tale of a man who love fly fishing with every pump of his heart. As his life-blood flows through each vein and capillary in his system, he thinks and loves fly fishing. It all began as a young boy growing up in Nebraska. When chores were done - or when they weren't - and water was in the area, a pole and line of some sort available, Mark would head across the pasture and down the road to see if the fish were biting. And mostly, they were.

Once upon a time, the opportunity to move to Colorado presented itself, and Mark was on his way. As a boy, family vacations had taken him to the Poudre. His family typically camped at Sleeping Elephant Campground, and each day would find Mark down the road at the local emporium purchasing a few flies, then off to the water to see if he could fool a few. If they took the fly, that was fine; if they wouldn't, there were always worms and so on under rocks. Dinner usually included a few fresh trout, accompanied by a young man's smiles of satisfaction. Sometimes, his brother's fished, too. (That's brother, Wayne, to Mark's right in the picture at the left.)

Did I mention that Mark loves fly fishing?

In 1991, after I opened St. Vrain Angler on 4th Avenue in Longmont, a fellow would come in, prop up his feet and drink his fuzzy water while I tied flies. As we talked, I learned that Mark loved fly tying, fly fishing and so on. One of my reps had said that when I hit a certain amount of sales I should hire someone and Mark became that person. He started full time in about March of 1992. On every day off and at every opportunity, Mark went fishing. The fishing was always great, too, regardless of the catching. In all of the pictures, Mark was smiling. I've wondered if he has problems with getting his gums sunburned, to be honest.

Last Monday - the one in October - Mark headed to the South Platte below Spinney Mountain Reservoir and above 11-Mile Reservoir to try his hand at migrating trout. In the fall, browns come out of 11-Mile into the river to spawn. They are followed by rainbow and cutthroat trout that feed on the eggs. I guess trout like Huevos for breakfast, too.

In water that is low and clear, Mark hunts of fish to cast to. He is one of the best at spotting fish most folks have every met. There are areas on the Dream Stream that have gravel beds, making fish easy to spot; Mark can see them in most any water, though, and fishes accordingly. On this day, the fly of choice was an egg. Many of you know the bantering Mark and I do concerning fishing with eggs. I won't fish them, and Mark will. When he is fishing for big spawners during spring and/or fall, he ties on an egg as his indicator fly, then adds a length of tippet and ties on either a small pheasant tail or midge larva. The proper amount of split shot is affixed about 18" above the egg, a fish is found and the fly is cast upstream away from the fish. Mark pulls the tip of the rod so the egg, which he can see, settles into the proper current lane. Then, he drops the tip of the rod so the line goes slack and allows the egg to drift into the fish's feeding lane. Often, he sees the fish opening and closing its mouth as it feeds.

When the fly is by the fish, he casts again. Mark is relentless. If that fish is eating, it does not have a chance. After several casts that he knows were in the right spot, he changes the bottom fly. When the proper fly is found, trout are caught. Pictures of sad fish and a happy Mark follow. So do the lies.

On Monday past - the one in October, you recall - Mark was in the river near the dam at Spinney. He was by himself, hunting fish. I didn't hear if he had caught any, and now, any that were caught are a distant memory. Mark saw a fish that he knew was large. He got into a position that was most advantageous to him so he could see the fish and make the cast, and began fishing. I didn't hear how many casts it took - we'll say one, as he was on his game from fishing up to that time and that point - but he hooked a behemoth! He was using 4X tippet on his Winston BIIx fly rod; the 8-1/2' 3-weight with his Ross Evolution reel. (When Mark started with me, he had some gear, but nothing like this!)

The fish took the fly and Mark's heart at the same instant. He knew he was had. They fought. Even pressure was put to bear on the fish, and eventually it was landed. An angler downstream witnessed the tussle, and Mark asked if he had a camera. He did. Several pictures were taken, and you see the three I have. The friendly angler gave the camera to Mark so he could have the pictures developed, and Mark tried to find a business card to give the friendly angler. In the process, he lost his credit cards.

I think he also lost his heart to this fish. I would have. How about you?

In the picture above and to the left, the look on the fish's and Mark's face are worth a thousand words. And they are a thousands words I do not possess. The fish looks surprised by it all - look at that eye! - and Mark looks delighted beyond description. Aren't we blessed to have pictures?

As you can see, in the picture to the right, Mark is squinting in the bright sunlight, his hat and glasses are off. Sheba is pretty happy about being along, fascinated by the fish and her master.

So you know, I asked Mark to write an account of this fish tale, and he said, "I think I'm kind of boring on that count. I saw the fish, put an egg in front of it and it ate the fly. End of story."

I mentioned that that might not quite do it for our sophisticated readers, to I wrote this story instead. Most of it is true, and the fish is very true.

On November 20-22, 2004, Mark and I will be taking a group of anglers to 11-Mile and the Dream Stream. We'll be fishing and we like it when folks observe and ask questions. Maybe you'd like a shot at a fish like this? If so, why not join us.

Call Mark at 303-651-6061 and let him know you are going; or drop me a line at angler@peakpeak.com, noting your intent.

We'll leave Longmont on Saturday the 20th in the late afternoon and drive to Lake George. We'll eat dinner there and spend the night in some cabins we rent for the occasion. In the morning, we'll go and eat breakfast, then get geared up and head to the river to fish. I'm sure some folks will fish both spots, and a fine time will be had by all. At some point on Sunday, we'll meet again at the cabins or restaurant, where we'll eat supper - or dinner, as the case might be. We'll fish again on Monday - after breakfast, of course - and when we are done, we'll drive back to Longmont.

The cost is whatever it costs for gas, food and rooms. We basically share costs. St. Vrain Angler doesn't charge anything. Mark and I are just going fishing, and inviting you to join us.

If you want to fish for just Sunday or Monday, that is fine. Meet us at the restaurant in the morning - there's only one open in Lake George - and join us for the fishing. If you want to spend the night or nights in Lake George, let us know so we can make a room reservation.

That's it. Pretty easy, huh?

Let's make fish stories of our own, and build memories that will never leave us. Memories of time on the water with people we like, trying to fool critters with a brain the size of our thumbnails.

I didn't say anything about politics there, did I?