Friday evening Vincent and I headed over to a pond in Rochester, (Foster Arend) to try out Vincent's new flyfishing outfit and he got to experience a float tube for the first time. Evidently the pond hasn't recently been stocked with rainbows (as we didn't catch any at least) but there are always plenty of sunfish to keep a guy going. At least Vincent got to catch fish on his new rod! It was a pleasant evening and we fished until they kicked us out of the park.
Saturday saw us at Forrestville State Park where the South Branch of the Root River begins. The two feeder streams were quite clear, water temperatures were good and things looked good for catching a few fish. It was around the middle of the day but there was plenty of shade and structure. One or two holes in particular looked sooo good. After pounding the water pretty hard we ended up catching only one small brown in some slack water. The stretch of stream was noticeably low in fish, perhaps because fish had moved downstream to take advantage of the morning trico hatches going on closer to Preston. The few sporadic risers were likely taking ants but were all small fish zipping about and not sitting in set feeding lanes.
Still, we had a great time picnicking with our wives and kids, and my sister-in-law was also along. The girls and kids went on a nice hike while we fished. Vincent, Claire and Lucas had to leave to get back to the lab mid afternoon, and Jessica, Mandi, Natalya and Pierce also bailed. I was left all alone in trout country. What was I supposed to do?
With the added freedom I headed down towards Preston to take a look. Some scattered storms had dumped sediment into the river and it was quite brown and only borderline fishable. I picked up one tiny brownie with it's "baby" markings still on it. I checked a few more spots around Preston before heading towards Lanesborough and Duschee Creek. I couldn't believe how brown it was and although I fished it for a while I had no success. Evidently it had been a great day floating, picnicking, canoeing and drinking along the Root River as people were everywhere in town and in good spirits. It was a fine, summer atmosphere.
I headed to Bucksnort and Trout Run. It always fishes well! The water there was very brown - almost fishable but not great. I didn't fish but checked the slab bridge and round barn and nobody was out - not a good sign. It was getting late and I wanted to get home to spend at least some time with our visitor (I'd taken advantage of her company for my wife so I could duck out and do other things without leaving Jessica lonely). As I turned towards home I just wondered a little about Beaver Creek. I slowed at the bridge and the water was clear............hmmmmm. There was still a little light left and that stream has always been so good to me. I parked by an access sight and went the short distance to a good pool I know well.
When I got there I couldn't believe it. There were fish slurping emergers beneath the surface with regularity. There was a cloud of tiny, white midges hovering above the surface so I tied on my smallest white midge pattern and cast out. After several casts I'd had but one, half-hearted whack a the fly. My fly was an order of magnitude larger than the white specs flying around but I could hear the odd mosquito buzzing around. After having good success with that fly in Montana I thought I'd tie one on. Success was instant.
The hatch switched from bulging, emerger takes to splashy rises and jumps as the fish switched to adults and the fishing went gang-busters. At any given time there was at least two or three fish at least partially out of the water. I've never seen beaver creek so active. In the hour or so before the bats and darkness (and knotted tippet) ended things I brought sixteen feisty brownies to hand, without moving more than two steps. Most were around the eight inch mark but one exceptional fish was just under thirteen. That fish was hooked deep and bleeding heavily from the gills. I hadn't eaten for hours so the thought of fresh, baked trout sounded great and that fish ended up coming home.
Sunday I called Vincent and he came out early in the evening. We rigged up and headed down to the same pool. The fish were just beginning to feed on the emergers when we got there, and it was frustrating for that first half hour or so as Vincent went fishless in the midst of all that sub-surface commotion. Finally though, it happened and instinctively Vincent brought in his first brown trout. It wasn't big but it will always be his first. I can't explain my relief and if Vincent was half as excited as me that would be great. Who would have thought we'd get his first trout on a size 20 dry fly on an intimate, technical stream like Beaver Creek where only wily wild trout live. I'd expected his first to be a dumb stocked fish from the open waters of Whitewater on a streamer or nymph. Some guys are just destined to fish at the highest level of the sport perhaps? Maybe I should have taken him out with a spey rod and greased line after Atlantic salmon? :)
Vincent setting up at Beaver Creek
A beautiful sight - someone's first Trout
The Happy Angler
The New Rod and Reel with it's first Trout
In the end Vincent ended up with three trout that evening with his last being around that eleven to twelve inch mark, which is respectable in this stream. A big fish on this stream is fourteen inches but I have two fish over the magical twenty inch mark in the eight years I've been fishing it. The stream has high numbers and some years the size is good as well, but mostly the fish are between eight and twelve inches.
A beautiful sight - someone's first Trout
The Happy Angler
The New Rod and Reel with it's first Trout
The hatch was just as good that night as it had been Saturday and it was also good Monday night, although I was alone then. Still, none of the subsequent fish were as satisfying as that first trout Vincent brought to hand. Hopefully that is only the start for him.
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