...but sometimes luck is better.

Left home this evening hoping to dodge the rain and get a little
fishing in. Still hoping the catch the Sulphur spinner fall. Got to
the access point upstream from Lost Guy Corners. It was still
thundering out and drizzling when I got suited up but it seemed to be
east and heading away from me. I threw my rain jacket over my vest and
walked down to where an open hillside overlooks a nice pool at the
head of the first rapids. Even from 100 feet away you could see them.
Big brownish flies, hovering over the water. I think the rain must
have pushed them out of the tree tops.

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v2.../IMG_0007a.jpg

I went to the foot of the second rapids and immediately spotted rising
fish. Tying on a March Brown dry I cast to the nearest feeding fish.
He swiped at it but missed. But a few drifts later he took it. A
couple runs around the pool and he was being unhooked. A nice brownie
about a foot long. Another cast to another riser brought the same
results. A fly came bumbling towards me and I snatched it. A Brown
Drake quivered in the palm of my hand, its already insubstantial
spinner form slightly crushed and misshapen. As the fish seemed to
like the fly I had on I cast to a fish feeding in the riffles. He too
took it. Another brown. There being no more risers and the fish not
seeming to respond to blind casting I turned and waded on down to the
next pool. At its far end I spotted a swirl. Working down to just
above and to the right of the fish I let a dozen downstream casts
drift over him. When he didn't respond I snuck around him to fish the
next run below. As I was preparing to cast he rose again, not 5
minutes after I had walked to within 5 feet of him. He took on the
first drift and rocketed out of the water. A brookie of about 8
inches.

I turned and headed back to the first run I had fished and saw another
fish come up. I worked him for about 10 minutes with no result. Just
as I was about to give up on him he took my fly with a healthy splash.
He ran down into the tail of the run and then back up. As I brought
him closer he made a run around my legs. Unsnapping my net and
reaching down I snagged him. Laying him against the the rod he reached
from the butt to the "b" of the Diamondback script printed on the
black shaft. At home that measured out at a little over 13 inches.

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v2.../IMG_0011a.jpg

I fished up through the rapids, taking nothing. When I reached the
pool that divides the first and second rapids I noticed another rise.
He didn't respond though and I fished up through the pool. An island
splits the river there and I went around the left hand side. There
were still a few bugs but now that the rain was over most were
hovering higher above the water. At the head of the island I cast into
a small seam between two rocks and caught the only fish of the day
that I didn't see rise first. A hefty brook trout of approximately 10
inches was the prize. I turned and went back around the side of the
island I'd missed. No fish but I saw a nice boil at the far end of the
pool. 20 or 30 casts fruitlessly went his way when I heard the sound
of a fish coming up behind me. A few moments passed and he rose again.
He took the Catskill dry on its first pass. It was a twin to the other
13" brown, coming up to exactly the same spot on the rod shaft.

The fly I was using was an old fashioned hackled dry. At a time in our
sport's history when most flies seem to be made from things like duck
butt feathers, brass beads and/or sparkly synthetic rug yarn this
thing was a throwback. A tail of moose mane, body of brown dyed hares
mask, Cree hackle and wood duck wings, it would have seemed a normal
fly to our grandsires. It was pleasantly anachronistic to see it
working on the fish tonight.

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v2.../IMG_0017a.jpg

Seeing no more feeders I again waded up past the island. At the edge
of a small rock I saw a dainty riseform. I floated the fly by the edge
of the rock's eddy. On about the fourth pass it disappeared in an
unprepossessing splash. A second or two later my leader was straining
against the fish as it wallowed 50 feet across the River from me. It
turned, ran to midstream and then back, this time under some alders. I
jabbed my rod tip down under the water, praying that the fish wouldn't
jump under there and tangle me on the overhanging branches. I managed
to work him out by sweeping my rod downstream under water and he came
out. As he splashed in mid riffle I caught sight of a white edged fin
and suddenly I was very excited. He bolted downstream and I followed
him like a steelheader churning after a big rainbow. The fish took
line freely against the drag of the Battenkill and for once I felt
grateful for my over engineered Orvis.

The fish was in the pool now and its runs were controllable in the
calmer water. I eased it into still water behind the island and slowly
brought it towards the net. He saw it and shot off to the side. I
quickly turned him though and then he was in the net. Fumbling for my
camera I untangled him and held him in my hand. I had fought him
longer than I liked so I didn't measure him against the rod. But he
was much bigger than the browns from earlier. I'm betting that he was
at least 15". The biggest brookie I've caught in maybe 5 years and by
far the hardest fighting brook trout I'd ever caught.

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v2.../IMG_0019a.jpg

I was shaking as I moved him back and forth in the calm water. After
about a minute he thrashed and swam off. It was deep twilight. I
fished a little longer but I really was not focused any more on the
task. Soon I reeled up and waded back to the car. In the beam of my
flashlight huge aquatic moths fluttered over the water's surface,
dipping their egg laden abdomens into the river again and again like
monstrous caddis. The walk to the car up the gravel path was
accompanied by the scream of some small creature probably coming face
to face with Mr. Fox or Madame Owl. In the dark I pulled out the
camera and looked at the shot of that scarlet and olive fish. What
luck. Pure, simple, good... luck. I'll take it.


hth

g.c.

BTW, it appears that the Sulphurs are fading up here in NC Wisconsin.
Only saw a couple. But the big #12-14 yellow mayflies I've referred to
as Light Cahills (although they probably aren't) were already coming
out. About two weeks early. Heck with temps predicted to be in the 80s
next week its probably time to start thinking Hex.