If you head down Highway 3 far enough east past the Rebel flags and rusted out cars of a bygone era, which reminds you that cars aren’t as visually interesting as they used to be and even in a state of decay they still seem to present themselves with more class and beauty then any modern day tin can excuse of an automobile. Oh and don’t forget to turn left at the End Of The Trail sign, not too far from there you’ll find a fisherman’s stream hidden behind the pines, running between the tall hills left over from an ancient range of long ago.
The plan was to be on the water by 2:00pm but before that scouting had to be done. Which will be the best holes to fish? Where is the wind backing up the river? What spots are crowded? Where are the browns?
First stop is the fly shop.
This intel will be some of the most valuable. Pay attention to what areas they say are hot and more attention to which are not. Now here is the real trick, mill around the shop then ask that question. Then find something like a T-Shirt for your kid, strike up a non-fishing conversation try to find some common ground, when you’re checking out ask more questions about that area then ask about a map. Nine times out of 10 while drawing you a map another area will come to mind and now since you don’t seem like an outsider they will share that location, bingo.
The upper Spillway was hot, AKA crowded. The Evening Hole was dead, AKA less pressured and Zone 2 was the secret saved for Locals. You see a tourist trap fly shop attracts a certain kind of fisherman, I’m not going to say a lesser fisherman but defiantly not the kind that only shop these shops to gather crucial information and to buy T-shirts for their 2 year old.
Next stop the less pressured Evening Hole.
I’m going to keep this one simple, a tiny fly fished at a dead drift in a area that 30 minutes before was considered DEAD has now produced a 18 inch rainbow and 3 more after that.
Zone 2
I saved this area for Saturday morning. By walking the trail to the stream the day before in clothing that in no way resembled a fisherman I meet fisherman, many of which love to brag and share info with someone who looks to not be a threat I.E. a non-fisherman. In fact I learned that the day before a 21 inch brown was caught there and the guy showed me a picture of it on his phone. Now I know many of you are thinking this guy is some sort of fly fishing double agent, but all I’m saying is fish smarter not harder.
I entered the trail to the stream at about 7:30am and right off the bat met an interesting character, which is not that uncommon, It seems like I always meet colorful characters on the trail to a stream. This one, may however take the cake. He was a wild eyed man with more feathers in his hat then a Cheyenne war bonnet and more duct tape around his waders then I thought was even possible. He was super excided about this rainbow he had caught the day before and preceded to show me it’s head, which was now dripping blood on the tailgate of my truck. (This is the type of fisherman that I referenced as a Head Hunter in my previous blog titled “Sworn To Secrecy”)
Now, being the kind of guy that I am my first notion was to sock his lights out for killing what once was a 20 plus fish and ensuring that he would be the last man on earth to catch him, leaving the rest of the world to dabble with stockers. But, the teachings of the society we live in took hold and I refrained from fist to cuffs on the banks of a stream over a dead fish that was legal to harvest. And now that I sound like a 20 Plus Club elitist i should disclaim that I really don’t mind catching any size of fish and it is my personal policy to catch and release, especially in a stream that fish live in year round. It is also my personal pleasure to have a mental image of myself knocking this guys tooth out for violating my code of ethics, but enough about him and yes he had one tooth.
8:00am at the first set of falls
Down from the small spillway at the first set of falls I cast into the closest fall as the line began to drift in the current it suddenly stopped. A rock or limb this thing isn’t moving. Then all of a sudden Zing the line took off like a rocket down stream leaving the distance between the line and backing shrinking at an incredible rate. This is getting exciting I take off following, keeping the line tight trying to get into some slow shallow water where I can have the upper hand. Unfortunately here is where it went south with a slip and quick plunge into the water, but the line is still tight. Not long after that the fish breaks the surface and it’s yellow and my big Brown. What happened next is gone now and I have no idea how it happened but the line went dead and the fish was gone. My brown, all my intel, my hopes, my dreams, my strict code of ethics all gone with the only saving grace being a line I read in one of John Gierach’s books where he talks about the Long Distance Release. Not long after that the wind went from 0 to 18 MPH with gust up to 30 MPH and the fishing was over.
