nightfish
02-13-2005, 12:21 AM
So I got out fishing today. When I left home a slushy snow was sliding down my windshield. Damn weatherman...he said rain & 40's! Oh well, it seems like forever since I've been on the water, and I had the free time...why not? I killed the colder hours of the morning at the vise, getting ready for the spring baetis. I'm quite pleased with the looks of my new stillborn dun, and a float in a glass of water shows that the initial design has a great profile and impression in the surface film. Hopefully today will provide some bugs impatient for the early spring weather.
The drive across the valley didn't look so promising. I couldn't decide if it was raining or snowing, and the temperature was dropping as I approached the canyon. On the way up, a little slush covered the white stripes, and there was a lowering bank of heavy clouds creeping down the canyon walls. But as I approached the summit, the sky brightened, and the watery snow eased to sparse droplets.
The dirt road into the access point was mushy, and the snow was slowly being eaten by a light drizzle. The temperature was approaching forty, and I could see rings on the water through the gaps in the brush as I bounced and splashed through the ruts. At the gate, there were a couple of cars, but only one guy in sight. He was throwing a streamer in the riffles above the slick bend pool. I rigged, looking for rises down in the flat water. As I started walking from my truck, a solo angler came around the gate, breaking down his rod. We spoke briefly. Yes, there were risers, but they didn't take anything he threw at them. The bugs were too small for his imitations. He wished me luck, and I quickened my step downstream.
Carefully, I picked my way down the riprap, sinking into unseen crevices as I watched a line of noses poking through the seam. There was a good number of midges creeping along the bankside crust, blacks and olives, but not too small, although I'm creeping toward the time when I too won't be able to see my fly if I want to match this hatch.
The pool was very active. There was no way to enter or cross without putting down half a dozen fish, so I chose to spook off the few at the tailout. I crossed to the far bank, and slowly got into position to cast across and down, against the overhanging brush. A gravel bar behind me left a beautifully open backcast, and I only had to concentrate on my presentation and drift. I worked the fish mid-stream first, but kept my eye on the scumline beneath the overhanging deadwood. A small brown took my black midge on the first few casts. After drying and treating the fly, an even smaller rainbow took at the end of the drift, while the fly skated slightly. As I released him, a splash caught my ear. I looked just in time to see the ring sliding from beneath the deadfall. I marked the spot, but it was just out of reach for the moment.
My fly was tattered by the first few fish, so I rerigged, watching. The line of little heads continued working. As I rubbed a little floatant into the fresh fly, I took a few steps downstream, and heard a splash again. Another ring, what looked to be a decent sized fish, came again from under the dead brush. Almost in reach, but so many fish still in the way. I didn't want any struggle to put down the fish in the challenging lie. I cast to, and hooked, the leading two risers in the string, and the rest went down. Nothing from the target for a few minutes, so I turned and fished an upstream drift to the bank behind me. Again, the slosh of an eager rise. I was nearly in reach, and I was ready to work that tough lie. Just a few more steps.
Those few steps took me into deeper water, and the cobble was slick. I had to take my eyes off the mark to check my footing. I froze in my tracks. Two little gray sailboats bobbed past my legs. I looked upstream from the lie, and in that slightly foamy seam, a few more sails drifted. I clipped my midge, and dug into my vest pocket for the film canister that held my early morning efforts. Carefully, I nabbed a small, olive-bodied, spent-wing cripple, with just a hint of a shuck. I made sure to get a snug knot, and very carefully greased just the wings and thorax. I heard the splash again, and looked just quick enough to see a flash of white drop out of the center of the ring. I smiled. I tucked my floatant away, and only briefly took my eyes from my mark. When I checked again, I actually saw the white flash at eh surface before the ring appeared.
It's amazing how similar a soggy clump of snow, released from its woody perch, can sound and look like a rising fish as it hits the water. Why hadn't I noticed that the warming air was clearing the branches? Was I holding so much hope in my new pattern that I created the illusion of an above average fish, holding in the most difficult lie on the pool? It's good to be able to laugh at yourself. And I must admit that I have never stalked a clump of snow as well as I did today.
At least I got to fish my forst baetis hatch of the year, had a slight taste of spring, and the exhiliration of the hunt, as well as a decent day as far as catching was concerned.
And the new pattern did catch an actual fish. A skinny, eight inch brown, in a moderately tough lie. Quite satisfying on its own, and made memorable by the steady rise...of falling snow.
The drive across the valley didn't look so promising. I couldn't decide if it was raining or snowing, and the temperature was dropping as I approached the canyon. On the way up, a little slush covered the white stripes, and there was a lowering bank of heavy clouds creeping down the canyon walls. But as I approached the summit, the sky brightened, and the watery snow eased to sparse droplets.
The dirt road into the access point was mushy, and the snow was slowly being eaten by a light drizzle. The temperature was approaching forty, and I could see rings on the water through the gaps in the brush as I bounced and splashed through the ruts. At the gate, there were a couple of cars, but only one guy in sight. He was throwing a streamer in the riffles above the slick bend pool. I rigged, looking for rises down in the flat water. As I started walking from my truck, a solo angler came around the gate, breaking down his rod. We spoke briefly. Yes, there were risers, but they didn't take anything he threw at them. The bugs were too small for his imitations. He wished me luck, and I quickened my step downstream.
Carefully, I picked my way down the riprap, sinking into unseen crevices as I watched a line of noses poking through the seam. There was a good number of midges creeping along the bankside crust, blacks and olives, but not too small, although I'm creeping toward the time when I too won't be able to see my fly if I want to match this hatch.
The pool was very active. There was no way to enter or cross without putting down half a dozen fish, so I chose to spook off the few at the tailout. I crossed to the far bank, and slowly got into position to cast across and down, against the overhanging brush. A gravel bar behind me left a beautifully open backcast, and I only had to concentrate on my presentation and drift. I worked the fish mid-stream first, but kept my eye on the scumline beneath the overhanging deadwood. A small brown took my black midge on the first few casts. After drying and treating the fly, an even smaller rainbow took at the end of the drift, while the fly skated slightly. As I released him, a splash caught my ear. I looked just in time to see the ring sliding from beneath the deadfall. I marked the spot, but it was just out of reach for the moment.
My fly was tattered by the first few fish, so I rerigged, watching. The line of little heads continued working. As I rubbed a little floatant into the fresh fly, I took a few steps downstream, and heard a splash again. Another ring, what looked to be a decent sized fish, came again from under the dead brush. Almost in reach, but so many fish still in the way. I didn't want any struggle to put down the fish in the challenging lie. I cast to, and hooked, the leading two risers in the string, and the rest went down. Nothing from the target for a few minutes, so I turned and fished an upstream drift to the bank behind me. Again, the slosh of an eager rise. I was nearly in reach, and I was ready to work that tough lie. Just a few more steps.
Those few steps took me into deeper water, and the cobble was slick. I had to take my eyes off the mark to check my footing. I froze in my tracks. Two little gray sailboats bobbed past my legs. I looked upstream from the lie, and in that slightly foamy seam, a few more sails drifted. I clipped my midge, and dug into my vest pocket for the film canister that held my early morning efforts. Carefully, I nabbed a small, olive-bodied, spent-wing cripple, with just a hint of a shuck. I made sure to get a snug knot, and very carefully greased just the wings and thorax. I heard the splash again, and looked just quick enough to see a flash of white drop out of the center of the ring. I smiled. I tucked my floatant away, and only briefly took my eyes from my mark. When I checked again, I actually saw the white flash at eh surface before the ring appeared.
It's amazing how similar a soggy clump of snow, released from its woody perch, can sound and look like a rising fish as it hits the water. Why hadn't I noticed that the warming air was clearing the branches? Was I holding so much hope in my new pattern that I created the illusion of an above average fish, holding in the most difficult lie on the pool? It's good to be able to laugh at yourself. And I must admit that I have never stalked a clump of snow as well as I did today.
At least I got to fish my forst baetis hatch of the year, had a slight taste of spring, and the exhiliration of the hunt, as well as a decent day as far as catching was concerned.
And the new pattern did catch an actual fish. A skinny, eight inch brown, in a moderately tough lie. Quite satisfying on its own, and made memorable by the steady rise...of falling snow.