On Monday I had the opportunity to fish a private stream, so naturally I jumped on it. This is a lovely brook that wants to be a river, and it’s not easy water. Its banks are overgrown, and there’s often a three foot drop from terra firma to water. The first beat we fished was particularly challenging; a lot of the water crawls along, creating glassy pools where any movement sends the fish into flight toward the nearest cut bank. I was instructed to stay out of the water as much as possible, but when did I ever follow directions when I wanted to do my thing? I decided that I needed to get in, summon my inner stealth ninja, and fish downstream.
Sure enough, I crept up on pool that had risers. The hatch was midges and caddis, and there were a few stray Hendrickson spinners. Some of the takes were more emergery, some gentle sips. I had two fish slam the fly the moment it hit the water, and a few more that required a little coaxing. I took six fish, which I was told was pretty darned good, a nice mix of stocked and wild brookies and some chunky rainbows. All three flies were eaten: Squirrel and Ginger (sparkle variant — more on that soon!), Hendrickson spider, and LaFontaine’s diving caddis, tan.
The second beat was not as kind. It began good enough, with my biggest fish of the day, a rainbow with a dramatic pink band (you can see it on Instagram @stevecultonflyfishing) on the second cast. But even though this mark was far better suited for wet flies, I only managed one more trout (do creek chubs count?), and even with that one, I had to wait a half hour and go back after I missed her the first time. I think the lack of activity was due to the hatches being over, and everyone with fins being well fed. Or, maybe I just stunk. Or maybe it was just fishing. No matter. It was just capital to be out fishing. Thank you. Peter G., for your most generous invitation.
Meanwhile, nose to the grindstone on the book. As far guide trips go, I am not taking any more dates in May. If you see me on the river, please come say hello.
Then, of course, there’s the new house and vegetable garden, which won’t plant itself. What a wonderful collection of obligations.