Asay Creek (An unexpected treat)

“Did you bring your fishing stuff?” asks Melis after Beezer’s graduation ceremony. I chuckle inside because that’s like asking a fireman if he has an ax lying around. But we did not come down to St. George to fish, we came down to do two things: attend Beezer’s graduation and to pack up her stuff to take her home. Oh, we also want to go watch Frank compete in Iron Man, which happens to be going on at the same time. But to make it perfectly clear we did not come down here so the dad could go fishing. “Oh, I may have some fishing gear with me in my truck, why do you ask…?”

I don’t know why I try to play it coy, there is no fooling her, plus it doesn’t help that Al, Erica’s dad the latest inductee into the fly fishing brotherhood, has this huge smile on his face. Of course Melis reads his face, then looks at me and the expression says it all: “don’t act like you don’t want to fish.” But we all know that they want to go hit the outlet malls, and we don’t. But impressively enough they actually want to go hiking in Zion’s.

As it turns out the stars align and Al & I are off to see yet another hidden river of southern Utah, one that I would guess only locals know about and real dedicated fishermen in the state—Asay Creek. This is one of those spring fed rivers, and I have never met a spring fed river that I didn’t absolutely love. Cold, clear water usually leads to big healthy trout. Surprise surprise as it turns out Asay Creek falls right in line with the other spring fed creeks I have fished.

It’s one of those slow moving, deep winding rivers that don’t really have holes to speak of, but more of a river where you look at it and you could invasion fish in any spot. As Al and I were rigging up we could see fish feeding off the top just ahead of us. You could tell it was a big fish; by the way it slowly slurped off the top. It was hunkered behind a clump of rocks and tall grasses. You know it was just about one to two foot out of the river to create a little cove for a big fish to rule.

My intention was to show Al where the fish live, how to get the fly to them, how to make it land the way that that type of bug would, how to mend the line on and on and on. I realized I was being annoying and the best thing I could do would be to leave him the hell alone, and figure it out. Here’s the best part, I could see that I had opened up a vain, just like my Uncle Sam and my Grand Pa did to me, when I was a kid. My older brother Pete and my cousin Jimmy also added to the love I have for the river, and even though Al is actually older than me, and he is an adult, I got to see him be 12-years-old again. That feeling will never get old. It’s enjoyable to see him join in on the addiction of fly fishing. It’s nice to be the one to bring him in, and it’s joyous to see him walk slowly, willingly, freely into the love of fishing. With your kids, you know there is a good chance they will get to be adults and not really like fishing. The bottom line is it’s gratifying to see anyone, of any age get into the greatest pastime in the world. Let’s just say it out loud together fellow fishermen, we are the top feeders, our passion is better than any of them; golfers, hunters, hikers whatever, fishing rules!

It was getting dark, and I am upstream from Al, and it dons on me that we are on a golden ticket, we are not on a normal fly fishing trip, we are in Southern Utah to see our daughters graduate from two years of college. We are here, as fathers, not as fishermen. I must head down river, get Al and get back to the girls. I am working on a big fish up river, he feeds with the classic slow slurp, and he waits for the food to come right to him. I have been casting to him for a few minutes, and I’ve been placing it in his general vicinity, which is not working. I have to drop it right on the dinner place; actually right in the middle of the dinner plate or he’ll just let the fly pass him by. One more cast, that’s the deal I make with myself, one more cast win or lose--period. I gather my line to get is straightened out and to sort of gather myself, sort of get all my ducks in a row. I work out a bit of line and aim really small and tight. I put the Stimmie exactly where that big fish is feeding, middle of the dinner plate. It swirls in a little eddie for about two seconds, slurp, set and yes sir it is a big fish. There is nothing like the feel of a large, heavy fish. If you have hooked into a pig, you know what I mean. This river has some fat fish; I will stop here in fear that you may actually make the drive, because this river is at least worth the drive one more time, it warrants a full dedicated day of fishing it.

I get Al, and it’s not easy getting him to leave. We didn't realize how far we have driven. I should be honest and admit that I made a mistake. Okay I admit it, I made a mistake. I drove too far to fish, when I should not have… Welcome to the club Al.