From my experience most times that caos is uncontrollable and there's a jump (or was that two or three or none, who can really tell as your mind is in complete shock), a blistering zig and zig and another zig and then you're left with a limp line and your indicator sliding down to the bottom of your drift in a melancholy sort of way as your heart empties, your throat dries, your quivering hands fumble at your reel and your mind attempts to process what the hell it has just witnessed. It's not your minds fault as you have just spend hours/days lulling it into a zen-like passive state where everything moves in a relaxed and tranquil way and then shattered it like a broken mirror. As things start to come into focus the quiver in your hands becomes a tremble in your knees and you start to curse yourself for "blowing" the fish but as you try to work out what you did wrong you realize - that fish was just too damn hot! That's probably the best part of fall steelheading in the Brule, those fish that are too hot to handle are out there.
Having gone through the mystical properties of the river and the fish I should probably bring you back to earth with the reality of a couple of "on the ground" fishing trips to the Brule. The first trip was a late night excursion where I left just after midnight on a Thursday morning, fished the river hard all day, and then drove back that night (five hours each way). Needless to say I stopped a few times on the way for short sleeps and then put a few more miles under my belt. I was there for first legal light and was on the water as soon as I could see.
The water was low and the day started off badly. I had just gotten a brand new Lamson Litespeed reel to go with my 6 weight Sage SLT and I figured it was perfect for the Brule. I charged off into the first good hole and as I stripped out line for my first cast the spool dropped off. I couldn't believe it! When I'd changed over the reel from right to left-hand retrieve I hadn't tightened the screw tight enough and it was now jammed in the spool. I had to head back to the car and grab my 7 weight rig.
The weapons for the dayWithin a half hour my indicator slipped ouwards in a funny direction and when I set a silvery flash rolled at the waters surface and zipped away. At first I thought it was the real thing but it didn't take long to realize it was just a jack of about seventeen or eighteen inches. That might not sound like that much less than a 22-23 incher (adult steelhead) but it's a totally different creature in terms of girth and weight and general appearance. Fifteen to twenty minutes later and the same thing but this time the fish must have been laying up under a submerged log. I was thinking it was just a matter of time but then the sun came up above the treeline, there wasn't a cloud in the sky and it was hot.
I fished hard, up and down the river. Every now and then I'd get a smolt or small rainbow trout but nothing better than eight inches. I didn't stop for lunch, I didn't stop to drink, I just fished and it was great. Come evening I wandered down to my favorite hole. I plumbed it and plumbed it and got another small (15-16") jack that really didn't do much. I headed back to the car, talked for a couple of hours with some other fishermen then began the drive home.
A couple of shots of the river from where I parked the car
The mode of transportation on the first tripAlthough I had to be back home on Friday I had another chance to head up Monday morning and I jumped at it and with gas prices a little lower I took the steelhead mobile. There had been reain and snow over the weekend and the skies were grey when I got there. The water was up but not muddy and things looked great. I was sure I was going to get into fish. I was on the water around 4pm and with the dark clouds that didn't give me much time. I fished the holes down to "the ledges" hard throwing every combination of flies I could think of. There was nobody about, it was cold and the odd snow flurry went through. One thing that was noticeable was the number of smolt I was catching. In the short time I landed probably a half dozen or so. Finally, as light began to fade I reached the bottom pool and on my first drift through the broken water at the head of the pool my line stopped. I pulled up only to discover the familiar resistance of the bottom. I yanked hard and popped both flies. It was dark, I was getting cold and only had time (and enough feeling in my fingers) to tie on one fly - you don't think I'm going to tell you do you what it was do you???.
I roll cast it out again and it landed in the same spot as before. I let it drift and again it hung up in the same spot. I cursed, yanked with more might than I should have and this time there was a violent headshake and line streamed out of my reel. The sound of the reel is about all I remember in the haze but I did see the jet-black shape of a decent steelhead come well clear of the water a couple of times in the space of a second or two, then........................I hate that feeling and no matter how many times it happens I can't get used to it. I stayed until I could barely see the end of my nose and my frozen fingers felt like slabs of steak. I knew I'd missed my chance but I just couldn't leave.
I headed back to Brule to buy something to drink then found a nice place to park the jeep and went to sleep. It was only 7:30pm but I went to sleep no problem. Despite being so cold outside I was cozy in the jeep. I did head back down to the river in the middle of the night. This was planned as I figured warming the jeep up in the middle of the night might help stave off the cold a bit. I don't know if it worked or not but I wasn't cold at all.
Come first light there was a few cars about but they didn't last more than a half hour in the freezing conditions and frozen guides. I headed downstream and at the head of my second hole I strolled into the water to about knee depth (it felt good because I'd fallen on my knee the evening before and it was hurting a bit), busted off the ice from my guides and stripped out some line. I still had some cobwebs in the eyes and brain and couldn't focus clearly in the low light. I wasn't too commital in my casting and was happy to just get the fly out there. On about the fifth drift the fly stopped and I slowly took up the slack in the hopes that I could dislodge the flies without busting them off (my fingers were too cold to tie on another fly) and the snag came up a little. I set a little harder and then the head shook and it was on. A sharp zip, an airborne jump and then a hard run down to the bottom of the pool. With the line easily on the spool and the first few crazy seconds of the fight out of the way I began to settle down. The fish boiled towards the tailout and then took off downstream I chased and fell repeatedly on my sore knee, on the other knee (which incidentally is sore now as well) and slipped into the water at least once. Below that first set of rapids was a long, slow pool but it was fairly shallow with a number of trees and snags. I was nervous the whole time and with each blistering run my heart was in my mouth as I feared this was the run that would result in steelhead liberation.
Fortunately I held it together just enough to bring the fish to hand. I was shaking like a crazy man and I fumbled around in my jackey pockets desterately trying to find the camera. It took waht felt like an eternity so I snapped a shot of my silver prize and went to work reviving it, which didn't take too long. I didn't bother too much with pictures because I figured I was going to have a stellar day with plenty more fish. As it turned out that wasn't the case. About an hour and a half or so later I again hooked up, this time with a more colored up fish. This take was more subtle and the fight more subdued, still a good fight but not the maniacal insanity of the hot, silver bullets. Having said that, I didn't get the fish to hand because when I had the leader to the end of the rod I thought the fish was done and instead of taking it into the quiet water to land it, I decided to grab it at the tailout. When I went to tail it, the fish spooked and ran downstream. As it did that the knot between the line and leader caught in the top guide, the rod doubled over and my fly dislodged. No fish. It was probably low twenties but had the nice pink hues of a fish that had been in the river a while.
I fished an hour or so longer before the lace on one of my boots blew out in the sticky mud along the trail.......and that was it. No more fish, no more fishing and it was back to the jeep for the drive home. On the way home I stopped at Wild River State park to check it out. It looks like a great place to take the family next summer and it looks like it also has some good cross-country ski trails as well. Oh well, back to work tomorrow for as long as that's going to last.
I roll cast it out again and it landed in the same spot as before. I let it drift and again it hung up in the same spot. I cursed, yanked with more might than I should have and this time there was a violent headshake and line streamed out of my reel. The sound of the reel is about all I remember in the haze but I did see the jet-black shape of a decent steelhead come well clear of the water a couple of times in the space of a second or two, then........................I hate that feeling and no matter how many times it happens I can't get used to it. I stayed until I could barely see the end of my nose and my frozen fingers felt like slabs of steak. I knew I'd missed my chance but I just couldn't leave.
I headed back to Brule to buy something to drink then found a nice place to park the jeep and went to sleep. It was only 7:30pm but I went to sleep no problem. Despite being so cold outside I was cozy in the jeep. I did head back down to the river in the middle of the night. This was planned as I figured warming the jeep up in the middle of the night might help stave off the cold a bit. I don't know if it worked or not but I wasn't cold at all.
Catching a few winks in the JeepCome first light there was a few cars about but they didn't last more than a half hour in the freezing conditions and frozen guides. I headed downstream and at the head of my second hole I strolled into the water to about knee depth (it felt good because I'd fallen on my knee the evening before and it was hurting a bit), busted off the ice from my guides and stripped out some line. I still had some cobwebs in the eyes and brain and couldn't focus clearly in the low light. I wasn't too commital in my casting and was happy to just get the fly out there. On about the fifth drift the fly stopped and I slowly took up the slack in the hopes that I could dislodge the flies without busting them off (my fingers were too cold to tie on another fly) and the snag came up a little. I set a little harder and then the head shook and it was on. A sharp zip, an airborne jump and then a hard run down to the bottom of the pool. With the line easily on the spool and the first few crazy seconds of the fight out of the way I began to settle down. The fish boiled towards the tailout and then took off downstream I chased and fell repeatedly on my sore knee, on the other knee (which incidentally is sore now as well) and slipped into the water at least once. Below that first set of rapids was a long, slow pool but it was fairly shallow with a number of trees and snags. I was nervous the whole time and with each blistering run my heart was in my mouth as I feared this was the run that would result in steelhead liberation.
A Brule River ChromerFortunately I held it together just enough to bring the fish to hand. I was shaking like a crazy man and I fumbled around in my jackey pockets desterately trying to find the camera. It took waht felt like an eternity so I snapped a shot of my silver prize and went to work reviving it, which didn't take too long. I didn't bother too much with pictures because I figured I was going to have a stellar day with plenty more fish. As it turned out that wasn't the case. About an hour and a half or so later I again hooked up, this time with a more colored up fish. This take was more subtle and the fight more subdued, still a good fight but not the maniacal insanity of the hot, silver bullets. Having said that, I didn't get the fish to hand because when I had the leader to the end of the rod I thought the fish was done and instead of taking it into the quiet water to land it, I decided to grab it at the tailout. When I went to tail it, the fish spooked and ran downstream. As it did that the knot between the line and leader caught in the top guide, the rod doubled over and my fly dislodged. No fish. It was probably low twenties but had the nice pink hues of a fish that had been in the river a while.
The Steelie JeepI fished an hour or so longer before the lace on one of my boots blew out in the sticky mud along the trail.......and that was it. No more fish, no more fishing and it was back to the jeep for the drive home. On the way home I stopped at Wild River State park to check it out. It looks like a great place to take the family next summer and it looks like it also has some good cross-country ski trails as well. Oh well, back to work tomorrow for as long as that's going to last.
A few shots of Wild River State Park 
No comments:
Post a Comment