Went to the 'Fly River today.The same little river that Joel, Jeff,
Wolfgang and I fished during last years Tavelin' Clave. Met my dad at
10:30. We fished together for 2 hours with only two trout to show for
it, one on a Pink Squirrel (the supposed new "hot" fly here in
Wisconsin) and a bigger one on a Pheasant Tail Soft Hackle. My dad,
not being an enthusiastic fisher at the best of times, headed home
then with a promise to return in a few weeks when the water warms and
the hatches pick up. Being the stubborn Norske that I am and seeing
the increasing amount of blue sky headed my way (with its hopefully
attendent warmer air and water temps), I decided to stick around for
awhile.

I drove up to the next bridge and set up a double rig, a BH Pheasant
Tail soft hackle as the point and a PS (Pink Squirrel) as a dropper.
So far there had been only a few grey midges flittering about, but
slowly a few BWOs made there presence known. No rises yet, but a few
yards down from the bridge a small brookie hammered the PT. I fished
down the long riffle away from the bridge, taking a small native every
5 minutes or so, all on the Pheasant Tail. At the end of the riffle I
decided to give the Pink Squirrel a true test so I replaced the PT
with another PS and fished the next couple hundred yards totally
"pink". Alas I also ended up totally skunked. So finally I gave the PS
a rest and went to a single Bead Head PT soft hackle. Fished for
another hour or so, catching the occasional small brook trout. At the
foot of a small rapid I noticed a reddish mayfly flutter up from the
water. That one was followed by another. In a couple of minutes a
modest hatch of Hendrickson duns was taking place. But no fish came up
with them. As the trout continued to take the Pheasant Tail, thats
what I continued to use. The hatch petered out in a few minutes. The
water remained devoid of risers.

At last a few fish started to feed on top. The Hendricksons were long
gone. But still I tied on a Hendrickson emerger pattern I had worked
up the previous night and cast to one of the feeding fish. I got a
splash refusal for my trouble but nothing more. The next couple of
rising fish also refused the emerger. Having tapered my leader to 5x
for the emerger I decided to try a small Pass Lake. The first fish it
drifted over took it and soon a 10" brook trout was wriggling in my
palm. For a while I kept taking trout, a half dozen or so, on the
little black fly. About half the time it took fish when I drifted and
twitched it as a dry, the other half when I retrieved it back as a
wet. But as the afternoon wore on the rises stopped and the reponse to
the Pass Lake slowed. I retied on a BHPT as a point and a Gold Ribbed
Hares Ear soft hackle as a dropper and fished down the last few
riffles before I reached the trail back to the road. A few more
smallish fish came to hand and then it was time to leave.

As always I came away impressed with how moving water reshapes it's
pathway as the years pass. This is the river where I became a fly
fisherman. Some of the old deep holes I fished 25 years ago are now
bouldery riffles. And, of course, some of the shallow glides I fished
as a twenty year old rookie fly fisher are deep, dark runs. The
trout's home is a metaphor for impermanence but still the trout
themselves remain, a constant in an ever changing world of flowing
water, rippling shadows and ephemeral flies. And hopefully they'll
still be there when this ephemeral fly fisher is gone and replaced by
a new rookie fisher, learning the ways of this river he's found.


g.c.