During one of my visits to the White River Fly Shop in the last month, a fellow patron struck up a conversation with me about the kinds of fishing we did. While I have been chasing smallmouth, he was almost exclusively devoted to trout. When I told him that I had never been fishing for trout, he said don't ever stop. It has a way of being addicting. I now understand exactly what he was talking about.
I also now better understand a comment a friend made a few months ago. The Saturday after Dad and I first went, we ran into Bobby at a mutual friend's seventieth birthday party. Knowing Bobby was an experienced, "serious" fisher, I decided to ping him for some tips and perhaps gain a bit of insider knowledge to tying flies. Bobby's advice: "Don't start."
Well, I really didn't understand what he was saying at the time, and it was already too late for that matter. Now that I have been I few times, I finally get it.
The first thing I like about fly fishing is perhaps the snob element. It's not that I have a need to feel superior to anyone else. Rather what appeals to me is that learning and study are required for true proficiency. From what I have seen and what I have read, the typical fly angler may have more equipment and tackle on his person than an avid spin-caster, but somehow regardless of the technology involved in its manufacture, the gear is still pretty primitive. I don't see fly anglers loaded down with electronic fish finders and boxes upon boxes of pre-fabbed plastic and rubber bait imitations. From the beginning, I've always known that there was just more to this.
Don't get me wrong. I'm still going to be chasing after bass (so far, I still think smallmouth are the best fighters in my area), hitting ponds and lakes, and using a boat. Yet, I have been hooked by the tranquility of standing in a stream with no signs of civilization or cultivation in any direction, with nothing but the sound of the occasional trout broaching the surface and the faint wisp of the line flying through the air, accompanied only by the gurgle of the water. Simply put, it is majestic to find yourself in such surroundings. I am hooked.
Well, D asked me upon my return from the Left Coast for some one-on-one time, preferably fishing this past weekend and I knew the Chief wanted to hit some trout waters, so we decided to hit the same stream I had explored the previous Tuesday, except working in a different direction.
My casting ability has continued to improve, and I was already yearning for a nice medium-fast action rod. I also had a few extra bucks on hand, so I suggested the three of us hit Bass Pro Shops, Friday evening. After quite a bit of research and reading reviews, I had my heart set on a 4-piece, 9-foot, 6-weight Temple Fork Outfitters Lefty Kreh Professional Series rod. I needed a few tying materials and was interested in acquiring a vest as well. So off to Indiana we went. Both Dad and I acquired vests, D picked up a few flies, I obtained my rod, and we explored a bit more.
I couldn't wait until Saturday morning to try out the new gear. As D and I hit the stream, for the first time, I felt like a fly angler. I almost looked the part with my cheap gear, and I was as proud as I could be of my "quality" rod. We began working upstream, decided a spot not far from where we entered looked like a good spot, and began fishing.
Years ago, D had watched a fishing show with her father. The host was discussing bass and noted that every lure he had in his tackle box had at least some chartreuse on it. "Any color works as long as it is chartreuse" has become a standing joke for us, and I decided I would see if it worked for trout. So I tied a completely chartreuse Swept Hackle, Wingless, All Purpose Fly out of buck tail and chenille the night before.
I cast my little green fly, and within a minute, I had my first rainbow trout of the day, all of six inches. Not long after, I found myself removing a trout from D's line. Having both broken the ice, I decided to head further upstream, wanting to explore a bit further and find a couple spots to put some distance between D and me.
We moved about 500 yards seeing massive amounts of fingerlings along the way before identifying another location. I switched to a Prince Nymph at this point, and D was using a Pheasant Tail. Pay dirt for both of us. So off we went.
We found a spot for D, and I kept moving upstream about 1,000 yards before I found another good hole. This time, though, I could see some fish 12-inches or better, though, not active. I hit the whole hard, and eventually pulled out another 6-incher before heading downstream to find D.
After 100 yards or so, I stopped, able to see her walking approximately 500 yards away up a beautiful straight stretch of water. She kept stopping and bending over, which really confused me, but as she got a bit closer, I realized what was going on. She had caught another trout but was too squeamish to remove it from the line. So she was bringing it to me, but being careful not to stress the fish too much. It sort of reminded me of someone walking a dog.
I immediately realized we had a problem. It was time she learned to remove the fish from the line. So I helped her get over her squeamishness. I have not taken another off her line.
So then we decided to sit down and rest for a while on a rock ledge. We ate some lunch and talked about our experience so far on this stream. We talked a bit about us as well.
After lunch, I took her up to the last hole I had found. She walked upstream another 50 yards. We both caught another fish, and then decided it was time to head home. We stopped at both the earlier holes along the way and caught additional fish. I caught seven for the day, and D managed to pull 6.
I knew we needed to tie some flies that night if we were planning on fishing on Sunday. Friday night, I "caught" the Chief trying to sneak some flies from my box! Right after we left Bass Pro Shops to boot, where he could have purchased all the flies he wanted!
Honestly, I don't mind sharing, but the way this is working, I tie a new fly pattern, and the Chief swipes it from me before I ever have a chance to use it. I tend to be more of a methodical learner. At the moment, I am slow to tie and would prefer not to waste much time making the same pattern over and over. More than anything, I just want to find a few reliable patterns for our area, stock up on materials, and then go to town tying. Once I've reached that point, then I would be more than happy to tie sufficient flies for all of us.
Dad's pilfering, though, is just frustrating me to no end. So I asked D to sit down and tie some flies using some color and pattern variations of a patter I had discovered the night before, the Swept Hackle, Wingless, All Purpose Fly. Over the period of a couple of hours, we tied roughly a dozen with me adding a few Prince Nymphs to the mix.
By now, I had consolidated almost all of my gear to my vest. The next morning, D found the Chief in the garage looking a bit dejected. He mumbled something about guessing that I was no longer using a tackle box now that I had a vest. D confirmed his supposition but then showed him all of the flies we had tied for him. He was gracious, and according to her, perked up a bit. Nevertheless, I am now convinced that he gets a bit of a thrill swiping from me!
At any rate, we headed back to the creek. I was excited. I now found myself in a position to be a bit of a guide for the old man, and I was really looking forward to it. My plan was simple, we would hit the spot where we caught the first few the day previous. As soon as we broke the ice, we would head to the location where I had seen the larger trout on Saturday, and while they fished there, I would explore further upstream.
So we descended down into the water. I pointed a location out to Dad where I knew there would be trout, waited for D to pick out a spot, and then moved further upstream. I was more than happy to let them have the premium spots. I just wanted enough room to cast and fish.
Well, Dad chose a different location than the one I suggested, and I found D standing directly behind me right after my first cast and strike, wanting me to tie a fly on for her. That aggravated me just a bit. I showed her one more time how to tie a fisherman's knot, and returned. I kept getting nibbles but was unable to set a hook. That was OK, because the Chief finally broke the ice and I decided it was time to move upstream.
We had about half a mile to go, and it wasn't long before the Chief fell a few hundred yards behind. I sent D on up ahead while I decided to work over the second hole we found the day before. Well, just as soon as I cast, here comes the Chief, actually walking directly through the area I was fishing! Ugggh! Well, Dad kept on walking, and I few seconds later, I heard a large splash about thirty yards behind me.
I turned around only to see the Chief looking like he was bobbing for apples. He has slipped and gone down all the way. He was slow to rise, and I was quick to ask if he was hurt. Fortunately, other than a couple of scratches, the only thing damaged was his pride. All he asked of me was that I retrieve his hat.
He purchased a Tilley while attending the Master's this year. We've gotten quite a bit of humor from that hat, wondering just how well it would float. Sure enough it did, all the way downstream, almost directly to me.
I returned his cover and moved on to collect D. We continued upstream to grab a bite to eat at the same place D and I had lunched the day before. Dad took the opportunity to convert his pants into some shorts with a razor blade.
Now it was time for the big fish. I suggested to the Chief that he approach from directly downstream and drop his nymph a little bit in front of them, drawing it across. He rejected my advice, moving further up and fishing down. So I went to the location I suggested and immediately broke the ice, catching a small bluegill.
Probably what was more remarkable to me about my catch was that up to this point, I had not seen any evidence of any other species. Lots of fingerlings, lots of juveniles, and several mature trout, but nothing else.
Well, astonished as I was, I returned the little bluegill to the stream and cast again. A few minutes later, I was removing a seven-inch rainbow from my line. The Chief had grabbed a couple of small ones, and so I suggested we start exploring and come back by here later in the day when I hoped the larger fish might be a bit more active.
So around the bend we walked. We passed by D, and the Chief continued on upstream. D and I started after him, scaring up a small 9-inch rainbow in a riffle along the way. I considered noodling briefly, but we continued on. The Chief was having some success, and not wanting to interfere, D and I passed behind and on upstream. Eventually she would stop and cast, but I kept on walking.
I walked about a mile without seeing anything but a fingerling. For a couple of hundred yards, I walked next to a rock face that had a few springs dumping into the creek, at least one of which was gorgeous, absolutely gorgeous. Finally, I came to an area where some rock had been pushed up to divert the current from a farm. I climbed atop to get a bearing fix when the owners of the adjacent property pulled up. They told me I was a half-mile from what I had already designated as my turnaround and that there was but one fishing hole between me and there. After a very cordial and informative conversation, I decided to head back to D and the Chief.
As I descended back to the creek, I saw Dad coming up, about 50-yards away. He asked me if I was coming back. When I said yes, he just turned around and walked on, not giving me any opportunity to catch up. About 400 yards later, I did pick up D. She told me the Chief had caught 14 fish while I was gone!
We continued to follow for a bit when I saw a doe and to fawns cross the creek just a few feet in front of Dad. I stopped and told D to be quiet, and then she too saw them. Mom and one child bounded up the hillside, but the third of the party seemed unable to make the climb. He paced nervously in front of Dad while all three of us just stood transfixed for about five minutes. Finally, the little guy chose a different tact, and bounded off. The three of us continued on back to the hole with the big fish.
At this point, the Chief decided to attack as I had advised earlier. The only problem was that I was already fishing the thing, and his course of attack put him right in the middle of my backcast. He caught a small bluegill, and seemed pleased. I was felt cramped and frustrated though, so I told the other two, I was heading back to where I was fishing when the Chief fell. Both of them decided to go with me; so much for getting some space.
On the way back, we were laughing and carrying on, teasing one another. Just as I pointed out to D the spot where the Chief fell, my feet slid from beneath me, and I went straight down. I managed to keep my pole high and dry, and the cigar I was puffing on didn't catch a drop, but I was soaked, and they were having quite the laugh at my expense.
I got up, no big deal, and went back to fishing, catching a couple, while D explored a small spring that joined the creek here, and Dad cast around the bend. He decided to head back and then had another fall, which to me was a sign that it was time to quit for the day.
i caught a couple more on the way back, giving me five for the day and providing the Chief 17. What a day.
No comments:
Post a Comment