Mid-July means daytime temps in the mid-80s and low water in the small streams. But with evening temps down in the upper 50s to low 60s, the water temps are cool enough in the early mornings and late evenings to wet a line and not stress out a trout.
So this evening I grabbed the flyrod and forceps, tied on a single foam hopper, and headed down to the Pavilion Hole at Camp Bearclaw about 7:45. The stream had returned to its mid-summer form after torrential thunderstorms over the 4th of July weekend; low but with enough places for trout to hold. Fishing upstream and close to the bank, I slowly worked the hopper up the right side of the hole. Finally, at the top of the hole, a fish came after the fly, but slow reflexes after a fishing hiatus for a week scored a victory to the trout. I decided to give the spot a few more casts, hoping that the fish had not tasted steel and might be stupid (or hungry) enough to take a second time. Sure enough, a few casts later the fish hit the fly again, and a nice 10 inch Brookie came to hand. I'm pretty sure that the trout was the same wild fish that took Elliot "Bearclaw" Felker to co-victory in the Extravaganza Trout Derby a week and a half before.
After a few more casts and a waterlogged hopper, I decided to walk down to the lower hole and give my fly a chance to dry out. Fly fishing for trout is at best aspirational. Anyone who expects to catch trout on a fly is either too new to the sport or too arrogant to realize how fickle the trout gods are. The two Golden Trout are still in the hole, although a lack of recent catching got me thinking that the Goldens had chased off other fish. Or perhaps Mr. Heron was filling his belly with the six Brownies that I had stocked two weeks before. So with my foam hopper semi-dry, I gave the hole a few casts. The hole runs lengthwise about 20-25 feet, with a riffley entrance that churns up the water at the top of the hole, and moves fairly quickly down the rest of the hole. On the far side is a sunken log that runs about the entire length of the hole, and has eaten many a fly. As I only had one fly, and it wasn't in the best of shape, I tried to keep it afloat by putting it in the calmer water. As the hopper got to the end of the log, I was surprised to see a fish, not a Golden, take the fly. From there, though, it got interesting, as the fish wrapped itself around the lower tapered end of the log, leaving enough line for the fish to move a bit, but not enough for it to break off. I tried to unwrap the line from the log, but that didn't work. And I didn't want to lose my only fly (or the fish), so I hopped in the water, waded over, broke off the end of the log, and brought a 10 inch Brownie to hand. As it wasn't too colored up, I figured it was one of the stockies. One down, five to go.
Since I was in the water, and my sandals (like my fly) were soaked, there really wasn't any reason to get out, and it allowed for a more concealed casting position. So I gave the hole a few more casts. By this time my hopper was sitting just below the surface, and no drying (again, I was minimalist fishing; no floatant) was going to save it. But I figured a terrestrial is also likely to sink a bit, so I kept casting. Sure enough another trout hit the fly just below the surface. This Brownie was again 10 inches, but colored up, so am thinking that it was a wild fish.
A few more casts without a take convinced me it was time to head back to the tavern for a cocktail and blog entry. But as I was climbing out of the creek, I happened to look down and saw a green foam hopper laying on the grass. I noticed a few days ago that one had fallen off my vest, a routine occurrence for me. So the trout gods seemed to be telling me that I would be rewarded by switching out my soaked hopper. Which I did. But, as I said, the trout gods are fickle. And my attempts to pull one more trout from the stream went for naught.
So with the sun setting it was time for the tavern. On the walk back a young spike buck and doe almost walked into me. The field had just been cut, so the two might have thought they were still invisible, but recognized their camouflage as gone when they got within 20 feet of me.
Three trout and a found fly. All in all a decent evening.
Tight lines,
MikeyDFishing
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