The Most Difficult Creek (Part 2)

Easing into the water, I position directly in midstream to face up-current. A straight portion of the five-foot wide stream, lined with boulders on each side, is in front of me. A deep cut bank downstream and behind me is flushed with a sand cloud as I make my way into position. The most delicate step produces a billow of disturbance downstream and that is too bad. There is no other way to fish this boy than to get in the water and work upstream. The trick is to do it very, very slowly. I will work a thirty-foot section at a time and not move for thirty minutes!

I begin to whip cast this delicate affair no more than a rods length in front of me, careful to avoid splashing the water with line. I am fishing merely the leader and my tippet. There is never more than two feet of fly line out of my rod - just enough to allow the leader and tippet to do the work. In three casts, I am rewarded with a surprising attack by a large fish. He rolls on my fly but doesn't take it! Quickly repeating the presentation, he attacks again. Still, he is only window-shopping. A third presentation and this time he rolls on it like a dog on a dead carp. I present a fourth and fifth, but he will do nothing now. 

The Redwing Blackbirds chatter among themselves as they watch my feeble attempt to lure Mr. Big. As the audience watches, I realize my mistake. I was duped by modern marketing messages into believing I needed floatant applied to my fly. Once a big trout has a taste of that goop, he will not go back for seconds. To any skeptic of this theory, I invite a taste himself.  Quickly, I attempt to rectify my mistake and tie on a fresh #18 Adams. I know the trout wanted it; he tried it three times! I will give him ten minutes before I cast again. My hope is that he will forget.

Again I present the fly. But he will not budge. I am forced to move slowly ahead another five feet - three, four and five casts. The sixth is the charm. Another large fish rolls on my fly and quickly retreats at light speed upstream. This time I see it was a big Brown - at least twenty inches! The routine continues until a little brookie feels it is safe to rob his big cousin of the treat. The brookie is ten inches and fat, but he goes back into the water. I am hunting Browns today.

After three hours, I have gone around two bends of the meandering creek. I will cut across the marsh once more to give the big guy another chance. Before repeating my stealthy approach of three hours earlier, I again take refreshment of now warm barley hops and ponder my last chance before calling it quits. No mistakes this time. I will position in the stream and cast ahead with a #18 Female Adams. The Female Adams has the addition of a yellow egg sack tied in back. I doubt the trout know it's an egg sack, but I think they like the yellow. It is stylish and trout like style if nothing else. They may also give extra credit to the fisherman considerate enough to think in this detail.

But as I approach my spot, I see a fellow fly fisherman has jumped my claim. We greet with the age-old, proverbial "How's the fishing?" He begins to explain to me that he has had trout roll on his fly all day and has caught a few twelve-inch Browns. But the engaging story is that he just lost the biggest fish he has ever had on. The massive trout slurped his fly and immediately ran upstream. No sooner had it taken out twenty-feet of line, than it button-hooked and ran past him downstream. Unprepared for such trickery, he lost track of his line and the trout broke him off at the 10-lb. portion of the tapered leader! "I think it may have been a 30-incher," he stammered. 

We spend time on bank to take refreshment, exchange stories and pawn a few flies. The trout slurped, the blackbirds cackled and the fishermen laughed.

Everything - just like it is supposed to be.