Given the fact that almost every behemoth trout reported, photographed, or otherwise posted on the Internet triggers an upwelling of emotional responses (some downright disturbing) on the “real-ness” and viability of farm-raised, planted salmonids, I felt a holy obligation to meditate on the issue and weigh in with an opinion.
So yesterday (after we stocked the river) I waded into the current, sat on a boulder, and thought. And thought. Then drank a beer, squinted my eyes, pursed my lips, and thought harder. In a moment of rare subconscious enlightenment, the answer seeped into my mind like a purple blob dropping through a lava lamp. Two words: breast implants.
Granted … they’re not real. But they’re definitely not a foul. There’s something to be said for aesthetic appeal. Otherwise, there wouldn’t be droves of middle-aged men lining up and shelling out the dough for the opportunity to have their photographs taken in close proximity to them.
Stocked trout, that is.