Refreshing: When Fish Act Like Fish:
For at least a year now, I’ve harped on how pressure is changing the way trout behave on many trout streams. Some are similarly frustrated and agree, while some yawn saying deal with it and the fish are still there so who cares? I get both sides, and don’t get me wrong on some days I will still fish some bullshit sz 22-24 olive cripple or griffiths gnat even though there are only size 18 sulphers on the water that the fish are horrified to eat to prove to myself I don’t need glasses and can still play the pet game, even with 9 drift boats anchored up around me watching and perhaps contemplating whether casting to the fish 15 feet above me is “too close” to sneak in and cast from above. I get it they’re “working” and I’m just fishing for fun.
While the cynic in me will never die, I’ve also acted upon my anger outside of my primary passion of spreading hate through blogging. The past 2 years, I’ve explored more maybe good, maybe horrible trout water than I ever did in the decade before. And I did it knowing that the fishing may suffer. Sometimes it has, but this time the stars aligned.
I had been eyeing a particular drainage out west for some time knowing it gets passed over by a majority of anglers due to other well known rivers nearby. I reached out on a forum asking if someone had a source in the area to show me around, and a gentleman I didn’t know reached out giving me the name of his nephew, causing me to wonder whether I was being handed a gift, or a biased referral. As a starting point I reached out, and the dude sounded fishy. Bro, but fishy. Which was good enough.
After a couple of conversations, I booked 4 days with him in Mid October, a time of year that is perceived to be risky, but in my experience better than advertised. Bad weather is a risk if your priority is comfort, but the fishing never had suffered on those bad weather stretches I had experienced in past years. While I hoped for the worst, the fish gods gave us unseasonably warm and sunny weather, the type that makes you say “ what a nice day” , even though if you are being honest the fishing definitely suffered. But not that much.
After a 4 hour flight, my buddy and I drove 3 hours to get to the area we were staying and fishing. We walked into the local fly shops and asked what was going on, with the response providing a mediocre outlook. Dry flies were said to be out of the picture and well gone, with streamers being slow due to sun and nymphing being the primary, but very viable option. Being defiant, we talked later about how we were definitely going to see heads and that we were going to chuck meat until our arms fell off. And we did.
DAY ONE
We met our guide early morning on day one after probably driving him nuts with phone calls and plans for weeks leading up to that day. We told him we could fish, but he didn’t believe us, and rightfully so since a lot of fisherman lie.This being the case, and looking back in hindsight, we were taken to a safe stretch he had done well on the day before.
We started fishing streamers from the drift boat on a stretch I would call a stream rather than a river. We landed a few fish, but both my fishing partner and our guide sensed the small water and odd pre-spawn lies the fish were laying in wasn’t what had been expected. Some initial doubts set in.
Fortunately, the lower half of the first day float opened up and provided some spunkier fish and what felt like a more legitimate stretch of water. With the added enthusiasm came added effort and excitement from my buddy and I, as we started to fish hard picking up good fish in fishy runs and other diverse riffles and pools that allowed for a positive end to our first day of fishing. A few late afternoon risers also gave us the shot at some dry fly action, that provided a fun change of pace along with the opportunity to show our guide we could cast. With this added confidence, the day ended with far more elaborate schemes of water we could fish in the 3 days that followed and we took him up on it.
DAYS TWO AND THREE
After a day one that consisted of a lot of cookie cutter fish, we emphasized that we wanted to chase bigger fish, and persuaded our guide to take us on lower percentage but big fish stretches. The reality was we didn’t really compromise on numbers, but did get into some larger and more aggressive fish in the mix. What stood out most on these floats was the behavior of the fish though. There were no games to be played as a result of human influence. Fish that were rising took the pattern that resembled the bug on the water. If you got your streamer in the zone and presented it correctly, the strikes on streamers were no doubt strikes, nearly ripping the rod out of your hand at times. There were no pet fish follows out of curiosity or any sign of hesitation- the browns acted like they were supposed to act pre spawn and before a long winter. Aggressive. But the cast, along with the speed and depth that you worked your fly had to be right.
The behavior in these fish caused us to think naturally rather than synthetically. What would a fish want, rather than what will a fish eat after being tormented for 6 months. Fish were in lies that they should be in that time of year, not back channels they had found by accident after being conditioned to hide there following being hooked 6 times in the major pool above. The fish’s mouths were clean, causing you not only to admire them, but also to take the hook out with more care than usual to ensure you didn’t make a dent in a perfect specimen. There was no looking over your shoulder to see if a boat was coming, because there wasn’t, so you fished to the fish you had rather than mapping out a more intricate logistics scheme to stay ahead. And there was no noise. Literally none.
THE LAST DAY
On the last day, and after enough fish we rolled the dice on a different river despite conditions and timing that suggested otherwise. We wanted to see it and didn’t care about hooking another fish. But the fish were there. A cold morning and slow start transitioned to a quick warm up temperature wise and a slow but steady slough of bugs coming down. Random but steady heads gave us some initial targets at good fish to turn around a morning that felt like winter. A few bugs a few fish. Not a bunch of bugs and a few fish sporadically picking because they are afraid to get a lip ripped off by the same guy that ripped the other lip off last week. From there, the streamer bite picked up and similar looking runs that had previously turned up nothing, started to turn up quality fish. Browns, bows, cutthroat. Dries and Streamers. Every spot that looked good, held a good fish. Then of course, greed set in and 6 -8’’ streamers started coming out for THE fish that never came.
But as we rowed in that night, I thought this is trout fishing, The original concept. Solitude. Truly wild fish. Wilderness. And for once, the dirty whore in me looking for that 25”+ brownie took a backseat to the bigger picture. And while the New York Times may call Fly-fishing the new “bird watching:”, those that get it know they missed the mark. We didn’t see another fisherman in 4 days, let alone some jean shorts above the knee, farm to table sophisticated freak show drinking cabernet that got lost from the banks of the Willowemoc. This sport began as an excuse to explore, and now that rings more true than ever. Don’t read anything. Just go and see it for yourself.
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