More Than Fish That We Are After

I’ve returned to fly-fishing the local rivers and smaller streams, my first solo outings on the water in quite some time. These were modest outings, casting bamboo and smaller graphite rods, catching and releasing a few nice browns that rose to a dry Tan Caddis pattern. The streams have looked dispirited, still low from the dry conditions of departed summer, hobbled by fallen willow trees, by fallen leaves, by beaver dams unkind to water temperatures suitable for trout, and even by lost tackle used illegally in water that’s reserved for the use of artificial lures only. But all in all, I was glad for a return to places that could only see improvement of conditions in the weeks to come.

Things were looking better by my fifth outing of the autumn season. I had found some larger brown and rainbow trout in the deeper pools of my rivertop terrain. These fish were not at all interested in feeding, as far as I could tell, and acted as though spawning was the only energy worth expending now. We’ve got to give these stocked fish credit for not losing all their instincts and piscine dignity while growing up in hatcheries. Some of them might have glanced at the drift of my small dry flies or my slightly larger nymphs but, in general, their refusal to completely check them out told me I was wasting my time if I really wanted success. I would come back the next day with a different strategy and a different set of tackle.

Golden rod (Chester)

As H.D. Thoreau once commented, “Many go fishing all of their lives without knowing that it is not fish they are after.” Some of us are familiar with that line and may have even thought about it. I, too, have ruminated on the writer’s words and would add but one qualification. Fishing is like many quests pursued outdoors. It might be a favorite activity, or it might be a lesser one, but it’s usually considered very pleasurable. And there’s more to it than meets the eye, of course; there’s more to it than catching fish. But to catch a fish and to note the beauty of its form and its place of life, where so many other wonders can be found, is a key to knowing what we’re really after.

I had come back to the river with a set of streamer flies, with a shorter leader and a tippet of considerable strength. I saw shadows and reflections of large, slowly cruising trout. I had no preview of the fish that seized my chartreuse imitation. It was powerful and heavy, leaping from the surface and pulling me around for what must have been 10 minutes or so. My landing net came in handy, although in this case, it did seem rather small. After several quick photos and a measurement of 25 inches in length, the big fish slowly swam away and disappeared in the depths. Soon the wind and cold rain began to pummel the riverbanks. I climbed the rocky staircase to my car, almost brimming with an unexpected pleasure.

release