When exploring a new river, I often don't expect to catch fish, at least intellectually. Internally, I have the anticipation of finding the haunt of a beautiful trout and fighting it the net, fulfilling an experience out of the Drake or the Hatch. However I know, in my head, new rivers can be tricky. You waste time finding the good sections, you may find it swamped with other trucks, or you may just not be there at the right time.
I set out to a explore a new mountain stream with a few hours to myself. I was there somewhat early after an early Autumn freeze, and thought the action might be slow given the cool temperatures. The narrow stream, locked in with aspens on both banks was mostly shade with the low-angle sun, only pockets of sun here and there on the river.
I prospected up the stream casting a reliable mayfly pattern in all the promising runs and riffles. The river, no more than a foot deep in most stretches, and a couple feet in the deepest spots seemed bereft of fish. I held hope that a little undercut bank by deeper pool might work, or a little run following a small drop might take, but none did. I tried a foam beetle, thinking that maybe a terrestrial might excite a rise. I tried a Pat's Rubber legs in a promising spot, wondering if the lack of sun just wasn't drawing fish to the surface.
After the better part of an hour, I hadn't seen a thing. I wasn't much upset with my abilities - as I usually am - but wondered if there just weren't fish in this part of the stream. Maybe this section was overrun with anglers and the fished had moved up or down? I was nevertheless frustrated, now only emphasized by the streamside swamp I was tripping through.
* * *
As I reached the stream again, a splash caught my peripheral vision. I looked upstream and saw three more sequential rises in the same spot. A splash of yellow and white, attacking whatever surface fly had reached it. Just one fish. I paused a watched a moment, just enjoying. I had strolled in the front door of the trout's home and was anonymously watching it take lunch.
After resisting the urge to charge up to it, I paused and reevaluated my tackle. I removed the nymph and cut off the remain length of tippet, only six inches or so remaining. A new piece was added, along with the another mayfly imitation, this particular one only tied the night prior. All was set to go and as I stood, I watched again. Nothing. I waiting a minute again before setting forth to tempt it back for a second course, and it took another bite just as I set forth.
I creeped forward to forty feet downstream of it's suspected lie and started casting out line. The fish was on the left side of the stream so I took three false casts to river right before bring the line back closer and dropping the fly short and right of the fishes lie. I wanted to avoid an errant cast spooking it with line on the first take. The fly drifted dead down with nothing throwing it off course. I casted again still slightly right, but this time further up. I dropped the third cast just upstream of where I had seen the rises. Two seconds in I saw the rise and set the hook.
Some fish prefer the acrobatics taking a Roy Jones Jr. agile approach; some are bruisers going deep and trying to out-bruise you. This was the latter and went slowly left and right across the stream putting a full bend in the 4wt. After 30 seconds or so, I got it near the net and it set out again. Ten seconds later I brought it to net, it's body folded in the confines of the overly small net frame.
I removed the hook, and admired the fish. It's body stretched from finger tip to elbow, later measured at 16 or 17 inches, and it had a strong heft, fighting even above and beyond it's respectable length. It's body had taken on the yellow hue of the river, and it was marked with the classic red streak below it's mandible and black spots along it's body excepting the bellow. Judging by the mouth, I guessed a female. I cupped it's body and set it out of the net, holding just a moment before it plunged on.
* * *
I set forth again, looking for a similar fish but after a hundred yards or so, didn't see another rising. I worked my way k downstream and paused to take in the scene. The fish hadn't returned to eating, I hoped that would happen shortly. I viewed the high grasses on either side of the stream and the runs presence against the darker canyon upstream. One fish is always better than none, and especially today, one was enough to quell my need to interact with nature. I called it a day.
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