Fishing on the Russian River in the Old Days
Flyfishing Stories by Bob Lawless

It was in the early sixties when I first began to fish the Russian. She was a storied river even then and she had no hatchfish. Her fish were big, beautiful bruisers and there were days when everything was just right and you got a fish like the 12 pounder I took on a red and yellow comet. It was not the biggest but maybe it was the best fish of my life.
When he struck, he nearly tore the rod from my hands and he was off like a madman. He was so mad, in fact, that he lost his bearings and beached himself down and across from me. I had to pull him back into the water whereupon a long fight ensued. It was a time that will be forever with me and always cherished.
You had to be, fly in hand, on the water before light if you wanted to give yourself the best chance. It was crowded even then because it was a heck of a spot (the Austin Creek riffle) and close to the Bay Area. A perfect double haul would get you all the way across and then it was down and swing, over and over. My beauty hit as the fly was drifting along on the bottom.
He was such grand fish that it saddens me to remember that I killed it to eat. But I was dumb then, and I have resolved to never do that.