Gems
of the ANF
4/22/2020
I decided to take a
leisurely break from the high waters and strong currents of the
bigger streams and visit one of my favorite brook trout creeks.
Though the brook trout were transplanted I still consider them ‘gems’
as they are beautiful no doubt. Kind of like a Cubic Zirconia, not a
real diamond but still beautiful to the naked eye. I used to catch
real native trout in these waters a long time ago. I’m sure there are
a few but I’m sure they are few and far in between.
When I got to the
bottom of the mountain there were a couple of trucks parked along the
dirt road. As I drove on there wasn’t a vehicle in sight. It looked
like I would have the creek to myself. Just a year ago on the first
day of trout season there were vehicles and people everywhere. Each
spot that a tent could be pegged or a small camper could be chocked
there would be at least 4 to 5 vehicles parked near it. It looked as
though everyone was having a family reunion. People lined the creek
as if waiting for a boat parade to flow down the shallow waters. Dogs
could be seen running around freely and small kids playing with
sticks as their moms or elderly gents watching over them. Today, two
weeks after the first day of trout opening, and with the scare of the
COVID-19 and the Govs order of no camping, there isn’t a person or
vehicle in sight other than the first couple. That’s a good thing!
I park along the
dirt road in a space just long and wide enough for one truck. I break
out the 3 weight Hardy fly rod, put on my fishing rain attire and grab a
few cigars. I angle my footing as I cautiously descend down the slope
to the leveler forest floor. I follow the well used path between the
trees, pass the remnants of an old campfire to the creek and look
over the scenery. The water flows pretty much gin clear with a little
glare from the afternoon light. Trees line the banks with many limbs
branching out over the creek with twigs waiting to hamper my every
cast. The sky is a pale cream shade with a touch of gray to make you
wonder if rain is a possibility. Green moss line the creek as if a
boundary to where the creek is allowed to flow. I step into the cold
water, attach a Woolly Bugger to the 4x tippet and begin my brook
trout quarry.
By this time of
year most of the trout have been harassed or harvested by many
fishermen. Most of them fish the deeper pockets under tree limbs,
submerged branches and deeper bends where the constant water flow
creates undercut banks. They appear to pass on the shallower ankle
deep to shin deep riffling water. Maybe their split shot lines get
caught between the rock bed as they try drifting their bait in the
flow. I’m sure a few minnow fishermen may give these areas a try
but usually will not that I have seen. Everyone is eager to get to
the deeper holes where they feel a bucket or two of trout still
remain. The easiest way I found to fish this small creek and get the
right angle is to wade in the creek itself instead of fishing off the
bank or constantly plopping in here or there causing a lot of
commotion. I make long casts down stream at an angle toward the banks
and let the bugger swing till my line straightens. My aim is to coax
the trout out from under their undercut hiding places or submerged
hazards into the open water for my slow swimming offering. The
distance between them and I are critical and I keep my movement to a
minimum.
It is slow going
and fish-less at first but I think positive and besides that
enjoy the sounds of the forest. I feel a tap of the fly line between my fingers as if
something is sampling my offering but not just sure to take a
mouthful. I let the bugger swing again in the same area and this time
give it a little more action with a few twitching of the rod tip.
Once the line straightens down stream a hardy grab bends the rod tip
and I snap back the rod and my first brook trout is struggling in the
shin deep water to free himself. I carefully bring in line as he
splashes to the surface. I wet my hands before handling him.
With the same tactic
I try for another but there is no response. This one trout may have
been alone in the shallows. I continue on downstream with the same
strategy and hook another.
I fish a couple of
deeper holes but there appears that the trout, if any, aren’t being
fooled by artificial imitations or they been harassed enough that
they are too wary of everything. I light up a cigar and take in the
scenery before wading on. There are half submerged branches to my
right along the bank. The water is maybe shin deep at the most but
brook trout will hold in the shallowest water if they feel safe. I
drop the bugger upstream and let it drift and swing in front of the
branches. I catch a flash beneath the surface but no strike on my
offering. I let the bugger drift till the line straightens and start
to bring in line for the next cast. I see another flash at my quicker
moving offering and nod at the attempt. Another drift through and
this time the take is a sharp tug and I quickly line set the hook. A
brook trout scurries with my offering as the rod tip dances with
delight. Another brook trout comes near but flips free before a picture.
After a few more
drifts near the branches I concentrate on the left side of the creek
where the water is maybe a little below knee deep with a nice
riffling effect to distort the water surface. I roll cast my line and
offering into the riffles and let it drift toward the smoother
surface water. I feel a tap through the fly line but miss the take. I
challenge the trout with a few more drifts and light twitches of the
rod tip and he can’t resist the temptation. Another comes to hand.
Now this is getting
interesting. With each few drifts I get another and than another
strike. I start pulling struggling hooked brook trout to me like a
boated bait fishermen finding a school of hungry crappies. Evidently
the bait fishermen passed over these shallow water trout and it’s
as if I found a mother load.
I know I can’t
take pictures of them all but each one has its own characteristics
and beauty like contestants in a beauty pageant. Their eager fight to
undo the hook as they dart beneath the surface. Their wet sides
shimmer in the allowing light showing off their fascinating colors.
Though they might not be true native gems of the creek they are still
gems of beauty in my eyes.
With each hook up I
hope to catch the ‘big one’ but it doesn’t come to be. Maybe
there isn’t a big one to catch. Even so I'm not in one bit
disappointed in my find. After a few more the bite dies down and I
continue on. It takes sometime wading and fishing downstream before I
find another few brook trout that wants to play with me.
The light starts to
dim and my body tells me I had enough fun for the day and it’s time
to give it a rest. I attach the hook to the hook keeper and step to
the bank as sprinkles of rain start to fall. I follow the well used
path to the old blackened coals left from a campfire and head up the
hill. It’s been an enjoyable and fun time finding these ‘gems’
from the little creek and letting them swim free again for another
time.
I sit by the camp
fire now back at my camping spot. The wind blows gently as the flames
flicker and wave with the lazy breeze. I puff on my birthday cigar,
an AB Select Corojo Churchill, a day late. The day before was a rainy
wet day that a campfire was not feasible to make or sit by. I’m
content and relax enjoying the rest of the evening under the deep
blue sky.
~doubletaper
