Fishing, and fish at last

Last Wednesday I decided to go and give the small crick that feeds the Bø river a shot.  I started from where the two rivers meet, and walked the smaller one up to a bridge a ways upstream.  It is a beautiful little stream, though mostly flowing down hill and very rocky.  Like many steams like this, I expected that if I could make accurate casts to the places I needed to cast to that I would then catch some fish.  Such was not the case.  I did not even get a hit, on fly or spinner.  So I'm left to conclude that there are either no trout in this stream, or that I'm using the wrong fly (and after seeing what type of insects there were around the stream, I must say that my fly did not resemble them).  It was a little weird not to catch anything on my spinner though.  It was a pleasant morning, though my feet were numb by the time I reached the bridge because I had been wading, yet I have no waders in Norway.  That means that I'm truly apart of the river, temperature and all.  At the bridge (or under rather) I sat down to let my feet warm up and my foot coverings dry off.  I also thought that I'd better do some reading for my literature test that was coming up on Friday.  

The coming Sunday I decided to go up to the lakes and give that a shot; I clearly hadn't been catching anything in the flowing water, so I might as well try something new.  Chenoa and I decided to bring some supplies to cook a fish with, supposing that I caught something, and it's a good thing that we did.  We worked our way around one side of the lake, the sunny side, and I was fishing with Rappala's version of the Rattle trap, a lure that looks like a small fish and has little beads in it that rattle.  At a narrow area between to larger parts of the lake, I got my prize (long overdue in my opinion, but I'm not complaining).  Fishing with the rattle rap I wasn't sure what I was going to pull out of the lake.  It's a pretty versatile lure, and I had no idea what was in there, though I thought that there might be some trout.  Despite using an eight foot pole and heavy line, I could still feel the trout fairly well on the end of my line, which was good.  The fighting style was familiar, and as it got closer, I could see that it was indeed a trout, the European trout, the brown trout.  It measured about thirteen and a half inches, and was fullbodied and dark coloured.  I tried to see if I couldn't catch a few more, and I couldn't.  So we started a fire a little ways from where I caught it, and we cooked it and ate it right there.  No butter, no spices, just trout, and it was delicious.