The more one fishes for trout, then, the more he is forced to the conclusion that no man knows even faintly when or why the fishing will be good or bad. Too often have all of us marched forth hopefully on those rare ‘perfect’ days when all the licensed fish prophets were for once smiling and nodding in sweet accord – only to return wondering whether all the trout hadn’t migrated to Mars.
Or again, too often have we braved their collective frowns – and gone out and hit the jackpot. Why? I don’t know why, otherwise I would set up shop as a swami myself – and henceforth tramp the trout circuits off the world, fishing away like mad on the proceeds of my sage revelations.
For my part it will be a sorry day when any character can ever tell me ahead of time what my fishing is going to be. To me, the indescribable sense of anticipation and mystery is simply going fish is almost half the fun. It is the beckoning lure of the unknown, the very unpredictability of the enterprise, that draws me on and on.
Robert Traver “Trout Madness” 1960