I headed up to the mountains after completing a couple of morning appointments and some playground time with ERL. It has been very warm lately and I was hoping that the stream ice has melted enough to provide a couple of fishing areas. I arrived at the bridge (where I park) at around 3:30p, and to my amazement the river was virtually ice free. As an added bonus there was enough of a current to allow for some decent early season fishing. The sky was overcast, a light downstream breeze, the temperature was 52 degrees. During the summer, the small trout that occupy the stream go CRAZY for a well-presented #16 elk hair caddis. On some summer days you can practically catch a trout on every singe cast. However, in the early spring the fish rarely rise for a meal. They seem content to slurp up anything that floats by, while they wait for spring and think their fish thoughts. The stream also fishes differently in the spring than it does in the summer, the path is narrower and the seams and runs are crystal clear. During the summer, the water is fast and twice as deep. The holes are dark and full of big fish.
[flickr-gallery mode="photoset" photoset="72157615707493084"]
I started with a #8 beadhead hare’s ear, with a very small lead weight approx 8″ up from the nymph, with a yarn strike indicator 6ft from the nymph. I approached the first seam quietly and began to cast. Achieving a good drift was proving difficult due to the cross currents and my rusty skills. I felt like a bit like a bull in a china shop, the line flailing madly and the fly slapping loudly on the water.
After frightening the fish in that area for a few minutes while I got my groove back, I moved to a little riffle. I removed the weight and adjusted the strike indicator down to compensate for the shallower water. The casts were getting better, but no strikes.
Over the next two hours, I moved from seam, to run, to riffle. The weather was beautiful and the sound of the stream is exaclty what the doctor ordered for my frayed nerves. I was having no luck catching fish, but the meditative quality of fly fishing was in full effect and I was feeling about as balanced as I can be. I had switched to a #6 beadhead prince nymph a little earlier and I was fishing a relatively deep run along a grassy overhang. I felt good about this area because I was getting a good drift and easy casts. I cast four times before the first strike. And I missed. I cast 25 more times before the next strike. Got him. Photographed. Released.
I was letting the water rest and just as I was about to make a note in the journal, I heard what I thought was my car alarm going off in the distance. I clumsily splashed to the bank and ran like a wild man towards the car (what a sight I must have been). I finally reached the car to discover that it was not my car with the alarm issue. I was pleased that my car was undamaged, but the meditative vibe was gone. I was done fishing. I removed my vest and placed it along with the rod into the car. I left my waders on because I had a feeling the sunset was going to be spectacular, and I wanted to be on the river with my camera in case I was right.
For twenty minutes the river and forest became filled with light and color. Bright yellow clouds reflected the low angle light onto the ground, making the river glow with what looks like its own inner light. I snapped shots and walked, hearing the stream and my own breath. By the time the sun was down, I was back into my meditative groove, back in balance.
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