Quiet Brookie Stream
Quiet Brookie Stream
Every once in a while I get an urge to fish my fiberglass rod. Overcast cloudy day, quiet brookie stream, why not?
After an unsuccessful early morning turkey hunt I parked along a quiet trout stream and took a short nap. I was getting my gear on, after my nap, and a vehicle pulled up behind me and three guys got out of their vehicle dressed in posh outerwear from head to wading boot. They grabbed their modern 9 foot graphite fly rods and headed to the water. I put on my old faded fedora with the Harley hat band and donned my well worn fishing vest. I assembled my two piece Wonderod fiberglass fly rod and discovered I forgot my Martin Classic fly reel. I mounted on an England made Orvis Battenkill with wf5f doubletaper line and grabbed a few stogies. (Next to these guys I probably looked like an out of date bum without much skill.) At the van I watched as the three fished the deep hole. It wasn’t long before they started to fish their way down creek. I walked down to the water and looked over the situation.
The overnight storm put some color in the water and it was running at a good depth, better than usual. I knotted on a Woolly Bugger and twisted a lead strip a foot and a half above the bugger on my 5X tippet. I took my time, to put some distance between me and the three amigos, and lit a 10th
Aniversario Sinclair Robusto.
As the three disappeared around the bend I started to wade fish my way down creek. Standing in the middle of the creek I’d toss the bugger near the banks and let it drift through. In a section of shin deep water I made long down and across casts. I wasn’t sure how deep my dark bugger was getting so I switched to a yellow body, white marabou for more visibility. After a couple of casts it appeared to be sinking a few inches below the surface deep enough under the wavy current. I made a long cast down creek shy of the bank and let the bugger drift towards mid creek below me. I slowly stripped in the bugger with short methodical strips and not to my surprise a weighty pull was felt on the end of my line. I reared back and the fiberglass bowed into the midsection. As the trout darted and fought about in the shallow undercurrent the Wonderod flexed and rebounded as if keeping tempo of the dancing brook trout. Nearer to me I was surprised to see the silvery yellow spotted brook trout was much bigger than I expected.
After the release I stuck with the yellow bugger and consciously fished my way down creek. I caught one more brook trout before I came upon the three amigos fishing in a deep long pool of water where dead falls laid and extended over the bank. The far side was a sloped bank that deepened quite quickly. Pine limbs overhung from the far bank trees making an over hand cast pretty difficult. They were doing their best with their long rods but I didn’t hear any excitement as if they were catching fish. I fished before them in the deep riffles of the mouth. I seen the flash of a trout as it swept after my bugger but it didn’t grab it hard enough for me to set the hook. I teased it some more but couldn’t get it to take. It wasn’t very long before the three gave up. In conversation I had told them I caught two brook trout on the way down and they asked me what I was using. I told them a popcorn Woolly Bugger, yellow chenille body and white marabou tale. (Sometimes I make up my own names for my flies!)
After they left I had the deeper stretch of water to myself. Two brook trout fell for my popcorn bugger and I was only able to bring one to hand. I also caught another on a triple threat. After an hour there I decided to make my way down creek a little further.
I passed a good hour away down creek without a strike before returning to the deep section I fished earlier. Without any strikes on a few casts of streamers, as a last resort, I elected to nymph fish. I knotted on one of my trusty Latex Caddis.
With a loop cast, of my Wonderod, the caddis larva imitation plopped up creek. With a mend up creek I let the caddis drop deeper as the fly line flowed behind. I kept a good eye on the tip of my fly line watching for any drop or slight pull. Just in front of me my fly line dipped downward and I lifted to the hook set. The line tightened as the rod tip arced downward and soon the fiberglass rod was flexing with action. The trout rose with a flash and turned down creek with reckless abandon. I held the porous cork handle tightly in my grasp and felt every jerk and sudden movement of the battling trout. I got the brook trout near and the fiberglass rod arced deep as the trout flopped on the water surface before me.
I continued to nymph fish in the same manner and was rewarded occasionally with a good quick skirmish of a hooked brook trout. After the last puffs of a Triple Corojo cigar I called it quits. I penetrated the point of the hook into the cork handle and made my way to the bank. Following the trail, between trees and brush, I made my way back to the van.
It was near 3:00pm. I had a commitment and had to get back home. I took my time though, enjoying a cold Grolsch, as I changed into street cloth. I drove up the windy road till I got to route 66. There I turned right and headed south whistling to a country song on the radio. What more could a trout bum ask for?
post edited by doubletaper - 2013/05/13 00:13:24