Morning Brookies

Morning Brookies

6/07/2020

 

 I stand in the cool water up to my knees watching the morning fog hover over the river downstream. Not a breeze to speak of making the water surface like a sheet of glass and the mirror images of its surroundings are distinct and unraveled upon its surface. The blue sky is just as blue above as it is on the water surface reflection. The mixture of green shades to olive hues of trees and foliage on the water surface also mimic the colors that align themselves along the river banks. I take a deep breath of the crisp morning air and feel my lungs with its pure freshness undiluted by the fumes and odors of city life. Birds chirp in high pitched short bursts and in the distance I hear crows calling out in flight. I’m sure the tent campers aren’t as gleeful as I listening to these early morning boisterous feathered and winged friends of the forest. 

  
 I stop and watch a gaggle of geese and their young along the waters edge. They splash and clean themselves before swimming along the banks. They pass by me like children following school teachers on a field trip.

 
While fishing I stop and watch a deer stroll into the river. It laps up water and casually walks through the river to the other side as if being unseen by me.

 

  I take the time to watch its intent. I find once on the banks of the other side of the river it eats something off the tree leaves. Than, much to my surprise, it reenters the river and crosses again back to where I first saw it enter the water earlier. A frog, somewhere near the far bank, croaks its two cents worth making sure all know its presence also.

 

 They don’t stock the river with brook trout that I know of. If you find one though there’s bound to be more in the immediate vicinity. Fishing for them will be a lot of fun. The ones I found were fat and wild. Wild in the sense they fought viciously as if everyone of them was hooked in a nerve that would drive a person crazy.

Each cast I prepared for a quick strike. At times it was as if they were toying with the Woolly Bugger, slapping at it like a cat pawing a toy mouse wanting it to move more erratically. A couple of strikes were so hard that they should of hooked themselves but I never got a good hook set on these hard strikes. 

 

 I’m fishing very slow current at an inlet of the river. Swinging the bugger is, though I do try now and then, risky because of the slow current the bugger may hang up on the bottom at any time. I cast out and wait a few seconds so my offering can drop a few inches below the surface and then sharply strip it in with hesitating short strokes most of the time. Most takes appear to me as being swatted at. If I pull back at the right time the line will straighten and tighten and I’ll have a vicious frisky fat brook trout wildly fighting to get loose.

 I have to be quick on most of the hook sets. When I do swing the Bugger I’ll see my line being quickly pulled outward without even feeling the initial take in the line between my fingers. In such cases it’s maybe luck to hook the fish.

I’m not one that believes in luck though. I’ve been trout fishing long enough and hooking a trout I consider skill. When someone asks me if I had any luck I naturally say ‘no’. If they persist in conversation I tell them I consider it skill. Now, when I’m trying to hook a trout in slow current that’s slapping at it, maybe it is luck. I know of no one that can consistently hook brook trout that slap at a small streamer in slow waters. Call it luck of pulling back on the line at the same time a trout slaps at my streamer and I hook it. Call it coincidence that I happen to anticipate the take and pull back at the time a trout takes the bugger daintily. Call it whatever you want but if you ask me if I had any luck I’ll still tell you ‘no’.

Once these little colorful devils are hooked you’re in for a wild fun ride. On a glass rod it’s especially grand.

 

  Once hooked these lively fighting brookies will flex the glass rod in every position possible. The brookies will dart one direction and change directions at any moments notice, with speed, like a pinball ricocheting off a rubber bumper. It will b-line straight away like a scared chipmunk hiding under a leaf almost being stepped on. Then all of a sudden make a swift turn and start zing-zagging as if avoiding objects beneath the water that isn’t there. Closer to the net they’ll attempt an escape and skip across the surface like a flat stone that has been frizzbee’d level with the water, splashing the surface into a spray of droplets. I feel the glass rod flex and rebound with each exertion of the fleeing and darting brook trout within my grip of the cork handle. At times, just for fun, I’ll let the reel click line out in rapid succession just to add some more excitement to the thrill. It will usually take a couple, if not more, times to corral these high-spirited brookies into the net. Even once captured I’ll have to wait for them to calm down in the net web to unbutton the hook from their mouth safely. Upon their release they’ll still have enough energy to flee away similar to a held house fly when you open your hand.

  Though these brook trout may have been stocked at one time each one of these are as colorful as a native brook trout. I swear some have been living for years to acquire such coloration from once being a hatchery raised trout. 

 Each one is different in color like a raw gem buffed to a brilliant show piece.

 

 I take time to light a cigar and further enjoy the morning activities.

 

  Of course all things must come to an end. The afternoon is upon me and the heat rises to a level of uncomfortable conditions for both me and the trout. I wade to the bank and thank God for this opportunity of excitement in this peaceful setting.

~doubletaper