If I Have to Explain...

 

4/10/11

 

 

...I decided to spend the last hour on the Loyalsock above the rapid white water run. By now the mountain haze had burned off and the sun was shining down through a slate blue cloud cover which kept the glare to a minimum. As I was trying to wade upstream, in the calmer water, the under current was hampering my intended pace. I could feel beads of sweat run down my spine and the heat of my body was rising, fogging up my polarized lenses. When I took them off I was able to see through the clear water just as well without them as the sun was to my back so glare wasn’t a problem. My intentions were to get within casting distance of an island that separated the large wide section of water. Watching the stony bottom I started to navigate my way towards the island. I didn’t get too far before the water crept up just below my hip wading belt. The clear water made the depth very deceiving. I decided to wade across no further and slowly fish my way downstream towards the rapids casting across stream swinging and drifting streamers.

I took a break to let my body cool off and lit an Arturo cigar. I watched a large bird fly down and perch itself on a bare tree limb above the island. The mountains surrounded me as I stood in the cold water in the valley. A refreshing lazy breeze followed with the current carrying with it the cool rising air from the cold creek. It sort of got a little eerie as I thought about my presence in this remote area, miles from human inhabitance. I always feel safe though, knowing danger when I see it and don’t temp nature.

 

 With my cigar clinched between my teeth I practiced my long distance casting having plenty of room behind me. My bugger plops into the water just shy of a strong riffle made by subsurface boulders. I mend my floating line downstream some as the surface current is slower than the undercurrent where my bugger dropped. I watched my bugger straighten the floating line than swing deep and downstream from me time and again switching colors often. I than decided to practice double hauling. It took a while to get my timing right with short pulls on my fly line. I’m sure it didn’t look pretty but I did get the weight forward line out a few more feet.
Than it happened while swinging a triple threat. At the end of the swing I let it dangle deep in the current before stripping in. I felt the grab and tug of a sluggish fish. Instantly I pulled back line and lifted the rod for the hook set. The fish tugged again and swerved left to right in the current trying to dislodge the hook. I know the quickest way to tire a trout is to fight him from the side. Their streamline body is made to hold, facing upstream, in current without using too much energy. This trout decides not to swim out in either direction but decides to struggle, tug of war style, directly down stream from me. I decided to flank him but he just followed the line pull and current shift from my leg movements. I began to shift the rod from left to right trying to make him use more energy from side to side. With every movement towards me I took in line as the rod tip continued to bend and hold tension on the trout. Nearer to me I shifted the rod far right and the fish reluctantly followed. He rose and his tall dorsal fin and the tip of his tail fin broke the water surface. He struggled in the surface current than dove deep. I moved my flexed rod downward towards him than swing it to my left, the tiring trout followed. Now played out I put my left hand in my net glove and moved the rod upstream to my left. He rose again and I gripped the dark rainbow by the neck of his tail, a solid trout! I admired my only catch of the day before unleashing the hook from his lower jaw.

 

I thought about my mom’s earlier comment “what fun is it to spend the time to catch trout than letting them go” as I released the trout from my hand. My mom never spent time in nature let alone fishing. I really didn’t know what to say to her at the time.
“Why do I fly fish and release them?” It’s pretty much like the reason I ride a Harley, an American made motorcycle, than a Japanese or foreign cycle. Like the words on a Harley shirt says; ’If I have to explain, you wouldn’t understand!’

I looked at my watch and it was closing in on 11:00am. I decided to call it quits and took one more look around at my surroundings. Nice to be out!

 

I waded out and found my way back to the van. I changed clothes and put away my gear. As soon as I hit the hard road I took the time to light up a Cohiba Pequenos to smoke on my way back to the hotel to pick up the ladies before check out time.

 

~doubletaper

 

you can read the complete story and more pics at http://streamsidetales.blogspot.com/