Perfect day on the river

In the fly fishing world, there’s nothing more annoying than the snobby Orvis decked guy, who puts his nose in the air and poo poo’s all over the river. Worse still is talking to him about all the exclusive rivers he fishes; naturally he’s a strict dry fly fisherman. These guys watch “A River Runs through it” too many times. Or, perhaps some of these fellows follow the British tradition. I have heard tale that on an English chalk creek a gentleman only uses dries, and code demands that he waits until his selected trout begins feeding on the top before he can begin casting. Further, if he is a true gentleman, he points out the fish he is casting to. That makes me wonder if a different fish takes his fly, not his intended fish, does that make him a “Bubba?”

Here’s where I’m going with this, getting fish to rise isn’t any easier that hooking up while nymph fishing, as a matter of fact, I would say nymphing is harder. Whether you use an indicator, high sticking, cheh nymphing, however you do it, I think it takes more skill to nymph; it’s just not as fun. Let’s face it there is nothing as satisfying as softly laying down a dry and seeing the slow deliberate take.

Toward the end of the summer, early fall, the top of the water is just one big smorgus borge. Caddis are coming off like crazy, the edges of riffles are teaming with may flies, and the hoppers are about as big as they can get; I especially love to see the huge flying species; not to mention things like beetles and ants. Fish know they have to belly up, and pound as many calories as possible before winter hits, and then they are limited mostly to tiny midge.

Today is one of those days that I wait all year for. As I approached the river, right off the bat I see a couple fish proposing on the top. You know when they don’t hit the top of the water hard, but just slowly slurp off the top. This tells me, they may be eating nymphs as they are in the adult stage working their way to the top of the water, or it could also be spent spinners falling dead after laying eggs. I look on the banks to see any adults on the weeds.

I will start with either a blond caddis or a stimulator, both are good to start with. My plan is to work over to the bank as best as possible to avoid lining the fish on the cast. The fish in this river are big and they spook easily. I just watch for a minute to observe them, and see where they were feeding. It takes about 5 casts; I put it right on the edge of where the riffle meets the pool. The slow, deliberate slurp and set. This fish ownes me, and takes me down river. He is the boss, and he is gone.

I round the corner and there were about three big fish doing exactly the same thing, the slow slurp off the top. I add a soft hackle nymph off the back, thinking maybe working that column of water would be effective. I miss two of them, just setting the hook too soon. I'm thinking I should move up river because they are spooked, but I kept at it a little longer. I hook up with a monster cut throat. My  fishing buddy Mike Matheson aka “Math” chases and talks about the native cuts of Utah as the most amazing experience to be had in the world of fly fishing. I think his passion for the Cuts has to do with their native survival and the pursuit of their biological propagation; because it can’t be the quanity of brawn in their battle. I rate Cuts on the bottom of the trout toughness scale—sorry Math.

I make my way up river to a section that is absolutely perfect. If you tried to improve on this hole I just don’t know how you would do it. It has a riffle coming into a bend that goes deep, and then has another little bend, and then it flattens out again. The bottom has some great rocks, and the banks are lined with tall grasses that hold a lot of terrestrial bugs—hoppers! I see a bunch of fish just a slurping off the top, exactly like the fish down river--imagine  that. I approach slowly, but the water moves fast enough that it limits their perception of you, adding to the advantage for man.

First cast and I get a take, but I missed it, a couple casts later another take and another miss. I keep at it for a while and hook a husky, angry, angry rainbow. He is maybe 16 inches, and did I mention that he is angry. I step deeper into the hole, and I see two big fish shoulder to shoulder fighting for position. It is hard to tell if they were playing or fighting for position in the feeding column. But as Colby always says “fish gotta eat,” as they would bite each other on the dorsal fin and literally push each other out of the way. I just watch for a while. They go right next to the bank, then out into the riffle, then slide back again. The strange thing is they would stay together—somewhat like they were playing. I work it hard, but they will have nothing to do with me and my fake bugs.

The next section has a diversion dam made of logs and smaller twigs. The water above the dam is placid, transparent, and bubbling with about 5 or so fish. They were big, you can tell by the slow calm take—just a touch of fish noses breaking to water surface. You can also see a tail or two now and then. I have some room to cast behind me, but not a lot, just straight back, the banks have tall trees lining them. Each time I move up, the fish move up. I get to a spot where I sort of “make a stand” and just dig into the job. The funny thing is I always say “you don’t need to cast far, just accurate.” Well now I need to do both, and I don’t have a lot of room on the side, both on the front and the back cast. I can see one big fish just on the edge of the soft water, actually right as the flat starts. About 5 feet above this beast the river bends, and it has a bush sticking about half way out into the river.  What I’m trying to say here is I am having a hell of a time getting this little elk hair caddis in the right place. I keep snagging trees on the back cast, or I am about 3 feet to the side of the fish. I know he’s big because that’s usually big fish behavior, just sit right in the perfect lane and wait, food will come.

At this point I really hope you are wondering if I catch this fish, because I am putting every ounce of casting skill I have to use here; no, no I am actually going beyond my skills. I have lost two flies at this point, and I have also miraculously extracted the one on my line about 10 times from some ugly tree snags. I want to take just two steps up, but I know myself and if I take two steps, that means I will take two more, and he will be gone. I must do this through casting. 10 more casts, and I am getting better, finally I put the fly right in his lane, and here’s the important part, without the line spooking the hole. I see the tip of his nose and a small splash. The fish takes it down, and I set the hook. This fish races right for me, I’m struggling to reel in to pick up the slack. He’s still on, and once again, I have an angry fish on the line. The odd thing is he has a buddy swimming right next to him the whole time. I can just hear him saying “Craig what’s wrong with you, why are you furiously swimming like this?” I last about another minute and pop, the hook just comes out of its mouth. I’m satisfied, I got him to take my fly after about a 1000 casts to get it right where I knew it had to be. That’s what makes it so significant, I knew what I had to do, and I was right—that doesn’t happen that often especially to me.

I walk up to the next hole, and make about two casts,then I realize my day is over—there’s no way it can get any better than that last fish, and all that led up to him. Leave on a high note. I walk up to the road and enjoy the walk back to the car. The sun is hot, it feels good, I think about my day on the river.