Weather: 50 - partly sunny
Water: rising, muddying
Hatches: everything
Time: 10:30 - 6:00
Comments: Did you ever have one of those days where literally everything seems to go wrong? Well, today was not one of those days.We got to the Rush about ten-thirty this morning. It was already 45 degrees and sunny. Gary asked me if I wanted to fish where we would get big numbers or big sizes of fish. I said ÒbothÓ. We chuckled and stopped at the turnaround just downstream from the Wonderland Bridge. GaryÕs dog Nicky was the first one in the water. He took a big long drink and wandered up on shore and laid down to watch. Gary couldnÕt wait to wet a line, so forgoing his waders and vest, he strung up his rod and tied on a #18 Beadhead Pheasant Tail and a #22 fluorescent red Serendipity (he calls these ÒNose CandyÓ or ÒTrout CocaineÓ). I was busy stepping into my waders and I heard him laughing. I looked up and saw him releasing a small rainbow. ÒWas that your first cast?Ó I asked. ÒYes sir.Ó By the time I got suited up, he had caught and released about ten small brookies and rainbows. It was my turn.
Gary went to put on his waders and I stepped into the exact same location heÕd been standing in. I took three or four casts to get my first fish: a bright, beautiful little rainbow. HeÕd told me that the cold water brings out their colors. After IÕd met a few of the residents and Gary was ready to go, we crossed the river and headed downstream.
Less than a half mile later, we both decided we had overdressed for the day. The suit of the season had been long underwear, fleece pants, fleece jacket, two pairs of socks, waders, vests, and neoprene gloves. The jackets came open, and we stopped halfway to our destination to immerse ourselves in the 40-degree water to cool off. Gary pointed to a tail-out along the far bank and suggested I try It. He watched and gave me pointers on mending my line correctly to give the fly a natural float. But to get a proper cast, I needed to be standing in water that was about eleven feet deep.
There was too much brush behind me to get a long enough cast out, and I lost my entire rig in a tree. Two flies, two split shot, and a strike indicator. So lesson in hand, we walked on. We stopped at the snowmobile bridge the KieferÕs put in every winter, I sat down to re-rig, and Gary went upstream to a shallow riffle to fish. I tied on a #16 Olive Tungsten Beadhead Hares Ear, and a #18 Nose Candy, and watched Gary land another happy rainbow. When I was ready, we walked down around the bend to the spot we had been headed for. It was a fast chute where the water got really shallow and narrow between two giant rocks. It scoured out a deep pool beneath the chute and jutted up against a limestone cliff that ran a hundred feet straight up. Gary gave me the pool and wandered on downstream. I waded into the water at the tail of the pool and started working my way up. The biggest population in the Rush is brown trout, and knowing their penchant for sticking close to cover, I worked my fly as close to the cliff wall as possible, sometimes bouncing the flies off the wall so theyÕd drop straight down. One errant cast came down right in the middle of the current stream ! (three feet from the wall) and before I could pick it up to recast, the strike indicator shot away from me two feet, and disappeared straight down. I struck and felt the head-shake of a good fish. It swam straight towards me.
I only use barbless hooks when I fish (WisconsinÕs early trout season requires it too), so eliminating slack line during a fight is even more critical. I already had the rod as high and as far behind my head as I could reach, so I started walking backwards as fast as I could in an effort to put more distance between the fish and me. Thankfully, after recovering all the slack line, the fish was still there and I brought it into shallower, slower water to land it. It was a fat 12Ó brown and even after a long fight (4-weight rod, 7X tippet) it took no time to revive and take off back to the feeding trough. Figuring that the fish were more active than IÕd originally thought, I headed upstream towards the chute, and started casting right in the middle of the current. Within ten more casts, IÕd hooked, landed and released four more browns, each one slightly bigger than the last. Every one of them on the Olive Hares Ear. Mind you, I have never had a moment like this in the three years IÕve been flyfishing for trout. While the last fish was on, I laughed out loud and even let out a Òwoo-hoo!Ó or three. On the next cast, IÕd gotten too cocky for my own good and once again, left the whole kit and caboodle in a tree behind me. Damn those trees. That was my last Hares Ear.
I virtually ran downstream to find Gary to ask him for another Hares Ear, and when I found him, he was bubbling from the several large trout heÕd caught in the last few minutes. He threw me his flybox, and continued fishing. As I tied on a new Hares Ear, he caught and released several more brookies, and then lost his rig on a snag just as I finished rigging up. I said: ÒPerfect timing!Ó and switched places with him so he could re-rig and I could try his spot. There were brook trout rising everywhere to tiny midges floating by, so I quickly snipped off my nymph and tied on a #18 Caddis emerger, and caught a couple nice (but small) brook trout. After Gary re-rigged, we continued on downstream, and collected a small Hendrickson, and a surprisingly large Stonefly.
The weather was warmer than weÕd predicted, and the bugs were coming off like mad. All species were hatching at the same time. I tied my Hares Ear nymph back on, and tried an innocent looking chute/pool that Gary pointed out, and immediately snagged on a rock right in the prime water area. I grudgingly waded in (knowing I would spook every trout in the area), and released my fly, backed up, and casted again. My attention was diverted by a splashing sound next to me for just a moment, and when I looked back, I couldnÕt find my strike indicator. I lifted the rod tip, and felt resistance. A snag? No. It was moving. Slowly and deliberately. The line moved off quickly into the shallow water to my right, and as I looked, I saw a trout bigger then I had ever seen in the wild before. It made very slow, determined moves and I could not believe the power I felt at the ! grip of the rod (which was almost doubled in two). This fish was mighty. I couldnÕt stop thinking about the 7X (1 lb. Test) tippet and barbless hook that was holding this fish. I started screaming: ÒGARY! GET OVER HERE!Ó (He told me later, from the way I was yelling, he thought IÕd Òbroken an arm or somethingÓ). I just wanted him to be a witness to this great fish before it broke me off. Well, after a few minutes of pulling the fish in the opposite direction it wanted to go, it rolled over and allowed me to lift from the water. I handed Gary my camera, and asked him to snap some pictures (as of this writing I donÕt know if the pictures turned out or not, IÕll know tomorrow).
The fish measured at an honest twenty inches. This was by far the biggest trout IÕve ever caught. I kissed it between the eyes, said ÒThanks for playing with meÓ and gently set it back in the water. It gulped a few times and disappeared. I was flabbergasted. Of all the books IÕve read on trout, twenty inc! hes has always seemed like the pinnacle. ÒIf you want to catch a twenty inch trout youÕre going to have to work long and hardÓ. ÒStudies have shown that large trout (twenty inches and longer) require four or more types of cover in the same location.Ó LetÕs see: the water was deep. ThatÕs one. The bottom was littered with big rocks. ThatÕs two. There was a big tree overhanging the spot. ThatÕs three. The water was fast and riffled. ThatÕs four. Well, howÕs about that?
Having gone through this life changing experience, I needed to sit down and reflect on the day. Gary tried his luck on the same spot, but I had spooked all the fish with the big struggle and soon we were headed back upstream. We stopped a few times and Gary caught a couple more fish, but my mind was elsewhere, and I was only casting halfheartedly and I caught nothing. I couldnÕt stop reliving the big fish. The 40-50 degree weather was taking its toll on the 16 inches of snow we got last week, and the water was climbing the banks and getting quite muddy. We decided that there wasnÕt much more to accomplish anyway, so we headed back for the car. We ran into Scott Kiefer (a local farmer) and talked a while about the proposed CAFO dairy ranch that someone wants to put in the Rush River valley. As Scott described the animal and human manure that another rancher had just spread on his fields, I watched the run-off from the melting snow pour through the fields and directly into the r! iver. Thinking of my twenty-inch fish, I felt a little queasy. Picturing all the other small and medium fish IÕd met, kissed, and released today choking on human and cattle shit, I began to get angry. I would like those fish to die of old age, not poisoning. WeÕll be at the meeting in ElPaso on Thursday night to relate our stories. Please be there too.
Roof Roof@tcinternet.net ---------------------------------------------------------------------------