There are great fish stories, funny fish stories, and then there are stories about kissing fish. Never did I dream that my day of floating the Yellowstone River would be about the latter.

This tale begins with not having the correct flies for the off color water. I never intended to fish anything but dry attractors along the edges, but somehow that wasn't working. So who should be more than willing to give a fly to a needy wife? Of course the guy in the back of the boat. Looking through his box, he reluctantly handed me his only "gold finger" which I think comes highly recommended by the one and only Jim Brewer.

After several fishless hours the gold finger connected on practically the first cast, dead drift, dangling under three strike indicators to keep it afloat. Not exactly the finesse fishing I am accustomed to, but hey. "When in Rome, do as the Roman's do." The host who was rowing suggested this set up and method and I was ready to learn. As he dropped anchor and I played the fish, giggles went up from the these two men, and I became immediately suspicious. "It's a white fish," came the pronouncement. Well, I retorted, "At least it's a fish." By now I had it in the net and was trying to remove my precious "ticket to success" from its sucker looking lower mouth. At this point I was being harassed about don't dare throw it back without kissing it first. It's a tradition! If you don't kiss it a curse will be upon this boat and we won't catch another thing. What a frightening thought! So just as I picked up this slimy 13" morsel to kiss and toss, a raft full of sight seers passed much to close. Peels of laughter filled the air. So I gruffly retorted, "It's tradition."

In my mind and heart I thought it was probably dumb luck to have caught it anyway, as my husband who had experience with this type of fishing was very professionally working the edges and runs with a black marabou streamer that looked like something every fish would want, but he still had nothing to show or kiss. Could this "gold finger" live up to it's reputation earned in Virginia. Was it going to catch a Yellowstone trout? Only a few casts later, the indicators paused and the fight was on, only this fish was bigger, and stronger. More giggles, the anchor dropped, fish landed, and as I was ready to release it I heard, "Don't forget to kiss it." I said, "Hey, wait a minute, I thought it was just the first white fish you had to kiss." "Oh, no, it's every white fish or you'll jinx the boat." This time I glanced around, the coast was clear, kissed and gone. I wiped my lips and my hands. Now where was that gold finger?

By this time I think I deserve a break, and sure enough within minutes, I had on a lovely 15" rainbow trout. Is the gold finger upholding its reputation? Does my husband want it back? Is the Pope Catholic?

The finale is yet to come. The gold finger has more notoriety to be gained. As we were entering the final mile of our float, and still no fish in the back of the boat from you know who, the same husband who gave me this little gold treasure, there is grumbling. The fly is coming undone. The palmer has come off. Just a few more casts. I hope it will last. The indicators stop and something huge darts right under the drift boat. No giggles, it's big. The anchor is dropped and if materials had been on board these guys would have been tying up some gold fingers. After a real hard fought 5 minutes out of the heavy current and into the boat net, we couldn't believe it, a 20" whitefish. To which I replied, "Who cares? It was the best fight of the day." As I removed the fly I realized once again we had company. As I kissed this huge whitefish the peels of laughter could be heard up and down the river. There is only one thing I know for sure. I won't go out the door without one ever again. And neither will my two fishing buddies. It made a very slow day a memorable one, and the boat remains unjinxed. However, I think it is time for some new traditions.