klingy
Active member
- Joined
- Jul 31, 2010
- Messages
- 591
I was hiking with my wife and kids last Saturday in a part of Michaux State forest that I haven't explored too much in the past. We were about to the end of our walk when we came across a small stream that I had seen on maps, but had for some reason never explored before. Seeing as how I didn't have a rod with me (not that I would have been allowed to fish anyway!), I just walked up the stream a little ways to see if anything spooked. Sure enough, lots of little brookies went scattering, and I knew I would have to come back.
Luckily, I was going down that way again Sunday, and I would have an hour or so to fish. I got streamside around 1:00, and it was cloudy with a light drizzle. I slowly worked my way upstream, spooking a few here and there, and hooking a few smaller fish. I decided to see what the stream held upstream. I crawled through some rhodo, and was presented with what was one of the nicest brookie holes I have ever seen. The picture doesn't really do it justice.
There was shelf rock all along the right bank with enough water for trout to utilize it all year long. There was a small falls on the left, and plenty of cover throughout the hole. There was also enough overhead shelter that it would be tough to even present a fly without getting hung up. A perfect spot. There HAD to be a nice fish in there.
I slowly let out enough line to make an extended bow and arrow cast. I pinched the line about 18 inches above the fly so I could get a little extra distance, and hit up by the falls. I thought if I could get the right angle, the fly would float through the prime spots in one drift. I knelt, aimed, and released. The line unrolled, and with a kick at the end, my parachute adams turned over perfectly into the deeper head of the pool. I waited. Nothing. The fly slowly drifted in circles, then was caught in the pull of the current. I couldn't lift my rod due to the brush overhead, so I had to slowly pull the slack through my guides as the fly came closer.
That's when it happened. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a shadow emerge from the shelf all the way against the far bank. There was no urgency in its movement, but it was deliberate in its approach. It slid under my fly, and inspected. After what seemed like 10 seconds of holding my breath, the trout decided that it was in fact food, and with a lift of the snout, and a quick turn back towards its lair, the deception was complete. I did a quick strip set, and prayed that I could keep my rod and line out of the trees. I took some steps backwards, and luckily didn't get hung up. After a few charges, and a jump or two, the brute was landed.
As I unhooked it, and felt its smooth, cool skin slide through my hands on it's way back in the water, I reflected on how special these places and fish really are. It is scenes like this that I keep locked in my memory, and that play out over and over again on those long January nights. As summer slowly fades, and we turn to another autumn, I look forward to the cool nights and crisp days. Another season to savor, and more of these moments that will spark in my memory until my final cast.
Luckily, I was going down that way again Sunday, and I would have an hour or so to fish. I got streamside around 1:00, and it was cloudy with a light drizzle. I slowly worked my way upstream, spooking a few here and there, and hooking a few smaller fish. I decided to see what the stream held upstream. I crawled through some rhodo, and was presented with what was one of the nicest brookie holes I have ever seen. The picture doesn't really do it justice.
There was shelf rock all along the right bank with enough water for trout to utilize it all year long. There was a small falls on the left, and plenty of cover throughout the hole. There was also enough overhead shelter that it would be tough to even present a fly without getting hung up. A perfect spot. There HAD to be a nice fish in there.
I slowly let out enough line to make an extended bow and arrow cast. I pinched the line about 18 inches above the fly so I could get a little extra distance, and hit up by the falls. I thought if I could get the right angle, the fly would float through the prime spots in one drift. I knelt, aimed, and released. The line unrolled, and with a kick at the end, my parachute adams turned over perfectly into the deeper head of the pool. I waited. Nothing. The fly slowly drifted in circles, then was caught in the pull of the current. I couldn't lift my rod due to the brush overhead, so I had to slowly pull the slack through my guides as the fly came closer.
That's when it happened. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a shadow emerge from the shelf all the way against the far bank. There was no urgency in its movement, but it was deliberate in its approach. It slid under my fly, and inspected. After what seemed like 10 seconds of holding my breath, the trout decided that it was in fact food, and with a lift of the snout, and a quick turn back towards its lair, the deception was complete. I did a quick strip set, and prayed that I could keep my rod and line out of the trees. I took some steps backwards, and luckily didn't get hung up. After a few charges, and a jump or two, the brute was landed.
As I unhooked it, and felt its smooth, cool skin slide through my hands on it's way back in the water, I reflected on how special these places and fish really are. It is scenes like this that I keep locked in my memory, and that play out over and over again on those long January nights. As summer slowly fades, and we turn to another autumn, I look forward to the cool nights and crisp days. Another season to savor, and more of these moments that will spark in my memory until my final cast.
