'Gems' of the ANF

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