Yesterday... My First Fifteen Minutes
Yesterday afternoon, I went fishing.
After doing our best to help our friends in the Bahamas who are dealing with the horrors and devastation wreaked by Hurricane Dorian, I took a break.
Yesterday was beautiful. A light overcast shrouded the river. The air was warm and still. I slipped into neoprene socks, wading boots and a pair of quick-dry pants stiff with mud from my last outing. I secured my chest pack and nudged my backpack with water, lunch and camera into its familiar spot. I took off and quickly arrived at the first of three long glides on this section of river.
After doing our best to help our friends in the Bahamas who are dealing with the horrors and devastation wreaked by Hurricane Dorian, I took a break.
Yesterday was beautiful. A light overcast shrouded the river. The air was warm and still. I slipped into neoprene socks, wading boots and a pair of quick-dry pants stiff with mud from my last outing. I secured my chest pack and nudged my backpack with water, lunch and camera into its familiar spot. I took off and quickly arrived at the first of three long glides on this section of river.
I always check this slick for rising fish. If I see one or two rises, I switch flies to the appropriate hatch and scoot down the bank to begin what is often a futile quest. The browns that prowl these slicks are big, usually more than 20 inches and they are very wary.
I walked behind the dense curtain of streamside willows and Russian olives to a point where they parted. Here I could get a good view of the slick. I immediately saw a few rises and then, as if by magic, a dozen or more fish began an intricate dance. Weaving in and out of each other they competed to pick small mayflies off the surface. As I watched, I could see some were eating emergers and only bulged the surface while others poked their snouts up and out to delicately slurp a floating dun. I watched transfixed. All these fish were 18-22 inches. I had never seen anything like this on this river. Every fish from a few hundred yards up and downstream had to have traveled to this spot to assemble at this breakfast bar.
Then, behind the last willow tight to the bank I saw him. This guy had a huge kyped jaw and was unenthusiastically nibbling on a few of the tiny duns. Were these small bugs not enough food for him to bother with? He seemed very disinterested. I had put a black chubby on at my vehicle and thought he might go for this big meal. I unclipped my fly and pulled on it slowly trying to clear a bit of line. As my arm moved, he immediately turned and moved downstream. Soon he was out of sight behind the willows and Russian olives.
I froze. He was probably watching me.
If he came back to his original lie, I thought I had enough line out to make a 12-15 foot toss. I stood still for a few minutes and he slowly finned back upstream to slurp a few duns at my feet. I was no more than 10 feet from him now. I tossed the fly with my wrist hoping for minimum motion. The fly hit the water and he outraced two 20 inch browns to inhale the back chubby. I struck and he headed down and into the Russian olive root ball. I dropped on my butt, slid down the bank, banged into the water and half fell, half ran to reach a point 15 feet from the bank. I pulled hard yanking him from the root ball. He jetted downstream leaping repeatedly. I worked him back upstream and was eventually able to land him. He was almost 24 inches... just a quarter under so I'm going to round him up. I kept him wet to get the photos, pulled the fly and released him. I was thrilled as I watched him glide vigorously away. I sat down on the bank.
"Wow, that was the coolest start to any day I've ever had."
I had been fishing for 15 minutes. I could have quit then and there and been totally happy. I did not.