Morning Trout

Trout are, perhaps, the fish I first got hooked on, metaphorically speaking. Trout are almost certainly the first fish that I ever caught. I still remember going fishing with my family in a hatchery somewhere in the Sierras, and how effortless it was to catch a farmed fish in their rectangular ponds.
I remember Justin lowering a sphere of spit on a mucus strand from his mouth, until it reached the limits of tensile strength. The orb smacked the surface of the busy water below, and a trout almost instantly fell upon the loogie.
Perhaps it was a little less surprising that these trout, clearly not as wily as their wild kin, bit our chewed up gum that we had exhausted all of the flavor from. The farmed trout bit upon unbaited hooks, and really cemented the idea that farmed fish are much less fit, both genetically and mentally, than wild fish.
Nonetheless, it is this memory, and other memories of looking for fish and fishing in lakes, rivers, streams, and ponds that secure the rainbow trout a special place in my heart.

One thing that still surprises me is how weak trout are when they come into contact with human activity. They are easily killed by messing with their water quality, by hooking them in the gills or if they swallow a hook, or even by touching them. But they are able to live in both salt and fresh water, to jump waterfalls to reach their spawning grounds, and some of them, the legendary uncatchable monsters, seem to be able to out fox any lure, bait, or fly that passes their way. Trout, like people, capture the concenpt of the tension of opposites.

I no longer like to fish for trout the way I used to when I was a kid. Part of the reason I don’t like trout fishing is that I don’t want to hurt or kill them because if I did I would feel obligated to eat them. I have had rainbow trout that taste pretty good, but I have had this fish prepared the wrong way or trout that was simply disgusting enough times to make me want to avoid it all together.

If you look at hatchery rainbow trout versus wild stocks, they look like different species of fish, though they are almost genetically identical. The wild strains tend to be darker colored, exhibit sexual dimorphism, and just look healthier. They also tend to be a little more wary than their inbred brethren, and I imagine they would taste better.
It would be interesting to see how long it would take hatchery fish to go back to looking and acting like native trout. How many generations would it take for these less-fit fish to optimize their behavior and characteristics to fit an environment that they are only generally suited to live in? Would interbreeding with the native stock be a good thing or a bad thing to replenish the local populations?
I think the answers are out there, but I know not what they are. But then again, I haven’t dedicated much time to finding them yet.