Trout painting copyright Kenneth Bronikowski,
used with permission
http://www.originalbirdart.com/bronikowski3.htm
July 13, 2003
Last night, fishing a local stream, I was landing trout after trout --it was incredible! I probably landed over 30, but I lost count. PMDs were everywhere, trout were rising everywhere. I was thinking, I'm catching most of them by accident .
Most of the fish in the little stream I was fishing are small, eight inches, ten maybe, with an occasional twelve-incher. But wait! Behind a huge boulder across the current, there was something else.
It was big, much bigger than anything I had caught so far. Its head had to be the size of my whole hand, which would put it in the sixteen- to nineteen-inch range range, maybe even twenty. It couldn't be. Now I was excited, maybe too excited.
I knew that since it was across a raging current, I would have to make a perfect cast and might have only one shot at it. I checked my fly, checked the knot, added a little Goop and made sure I had enough line out to reach the other side.
I made several false casts. Probably too many, but I wanted to make sure I had the correct distance and direction. Everything felt good. I made the cast. It was, in a word, dreadful . My line and fly slammed the water. What the hell was I doing?
I was thinking, that's it, I've spooked the big guy and he's gone forever. But no, he was still there. It was time to regroup. I made another cast --perfect . It landed right behind the boulder. I'd mended in mid-air and kept a good float on the line. The trout slammed my fly hard, coming up out of the water like a rocket. I set the hook and caught air. Damn.
I told myself not to panic and cast again, and again, and again... over and over. Same cast, same strike, same results. I was catching nothing but air! This scenario went on for over an hour. How frustrating could it get? It was now dark and I could only see my cast by the nearly full moon. I was yelling and cursing obscenities at the fish now.
It didn't help, not a bit.
Stupid trout! I would be back. I knew where it lived.
August 16, 2003
Remember my stupid trout story from about a month ago? Well, last evening I had a rare opportunity, of late, to try him again, and this time I got him.
Of course, I can't say for sure if it was the same one, but I got him out of the same hole. The fish did seem a little smaller than I remembered, about sixteen inches. Considering this was a little stream where the norm is ten to twelve inches, I came away quite proud of myself.
The fly and the cast were a little different from my first shot at him. This time I had on a size 16 Red Humpy and waded in directly upstream from the landmark rock where he was hiding the last time. I let out some line, maybe five yards worth, made a short flip downstream, and let the current drift my fly right around the rock.
Bam! First cast. Boy did I feel smug. The fish took off upstream and did a little tail dance before I could get him to the net. I dampened my hands and lifted him gingerly up to admire him. Boy, was he gorgeous. What colors. The fish was a rainbow with a dark green back and an iridescent pink stripe that shined like a badge of honor. It is always so wonderful to see these healthy wild trout. I felt good and blessed and thankful for this experience. I held him by his tail and let the water flow through his gills. He was refreshed and took off like a bolt of lighting.
Let that be a good lesson to you, trout, I said I'd be back.
September 1, 2003
On a whim, I went back to the rock early this morning to see if I could catch that "stupid trout" again.
Conditions seemed conducive for landing the big guy again. It was cool on the brink of being cold, with a heavy mist hanging in the canyon. Steam was rising from the river --no doubt the water was warmer than the air.
Flows were down somewhat, after all the summer irrigation. I guessed the farmers were about complete with their crops. The water was stained somewhat due to recent rains and upstream bridge construction, but still clear enough to give it another try.
From my vantage point from the road above, I could see there were a few sporadic rises, but very few bugs in the air. I guessed they were feeding on emergers, maybe BWOs. I examined my nymph box to see what I had on hand to match the hatch.
I was in luck; I found a few CDC BWO Floating Nymph Emergers, in size 16. A little big, I thought, but they would work, unless the trout were being very selective.
My ploy was to duplicate my last successful effort, providing of course the trout was still hiding behind his rock. I thought this doubtful, but wanted to give it a go anyway.
I waded in just above the landmark rock, as before, and stood there watching the water. He wasn't there, or at least I couldn't see him. Like I said, there were trout rising everywhere, so I still should be in luck for a good morning.
I made a few casts to some rises in range, without a take or even a bump, so I repositioned myself to get a better drift at the two or three trout I was watching.
I made my cast, the drift was perfect and I landed a beautiful little rainbow of nine or ten inches. His dark green back and almost iridescent pink stripe were vibrant. I did good.
While releasing him, I noticed out of the corner of my eye what appeared to be a rise form over by the rock. Could it be my stupid trout? Probably not, but I had to find out, so I sidled over to get in position as before.
Something was different, however. The current wasn't running as it had been. Perhaps the change in flows had something to do with it. I realized I would have to move a little to the left in order to get the drift I wanted, to float my fly to the opposite side of the rock this time.
This was a big mistake! I stepped right into a giant hole and sank completely, filling up my waders, and lost my hat and a fly box to boot. Gasping, I popped back up and regained my footing. Half embarrassed and half scared, I looked around to see if anyone was watching. Thank God, no one was around.
This did it for me. I was through for the day. I trudged back to the shore and removed my boots and waders. Shivering, I drained my waders, threw them over my shoulder and headed back to the truck, which was a bit tough to do barefoot.
Once up top, I looked back at the rock, and I could swear that stupid trout was smiling at me.
I guess this time he got me! I tipped my hat to him and was grateful for the experience.