Tagging Brookies

 

Tagging Brookies

4/14/22

  After chasing rainbows the past few days, with a couple of brown trout finds, I decided to look for brook trout. I knew the right crick to do so. I’ve fished this section so many times in the past I have more good memories about it than looking through my high school year book. Though stocked I’ve found natives as well as older hold overs.

  The crick is in the ANF along a dirt road filled with potholes the size of small craters. The narrow crick is well stocked for the opening of the season and gets fished over pretty heavy. I never see many fly guys on the crick so it’s mostly a bait feeding stream. Because the season opened with cold conditions and high water I expected a few fish may have escaped the snelled hook bait chuckers.

 

  It was a chilly hazy morning with an on and off misty rain. The water was a little on the high side which was to my advantage. I figured the brook trout would be out from their hiding places along the undercut banks and looking for tid bits of food. The water was clear but with just enough morning light sparkled the wavy surface current to make it impossible to see the stony crick bed clearly. I have flipped over rocks and never discovered what the native trout or hold overs eat but they survive. I figured a short fat Woolly Bugger would entice them to gorge like a starving young man being offered a free sirloin!! I already knew that a white bugger was a favorite on this stream like buttered popcorn at the local movie theater.

  I spent a couple of hours wading the narrow crick and fishing streamers downstream. I hit all the deeper holes that current fishermen weren’t camped out near. I caught brook trout here and there as I went along. I caught most on the white Woolly Bugger but fooled a few on a pink sucker spawn with a couple of strikes on my Triple Threat streamers.

 After quite a ways downstream I decided to walk way up crick and fish between the mountain pass where few may have ventured. I was patient for about 20 minutes of nothingness but keeping a stogie between my lips enjoyed the peacefulness of my surroundings.

  I saw, within my vision, a big boulder jutting out from the forest bank. It looked much deeper in the shadow of the boulder out towards midstream and I had a good feeling there might be a couple of little fellows hiding deep. I slowly got within casting distance on the opposite side of the boulder. I made a short cast upstream, with a pink sucker spawn, and high sticked it near the boulder. I felt a bump but figured it was just that maybe my weight or spawn bumped against the boulder and hoping it wasn’t some unseen stick hazard. I made my next cast in the same path taking my chances that it would pass over the hazard if that’s what it was. The next bump was more than a slight bump. After my line passed by the boulder a trout grabbed it like a home run hitter waiting for a fast ball down the middle on a 3 and 0 count. After setting the hook he sped off like a left handed batter bunting for a single off a right handed pitcher down the third base line. He quickly turned, as if rounding first, and took off towards second base on an errant throw to first that skipped along the dirt infield. I knew I had a good hook set on him and I’m sure he knew what I knew and would have to fight to get unhooked or break my line. The 4 weight bowed good and I held on tightly with one hand as tensioned line slipped through my fingers of my other. He fought angrily with head shakes and quick jolts against the current. I was in water just above my shins though the water he was in downstream was maybe knee deep. I angled and extended the rod up crick some and he swam back over to the boulder. I took in line as the arced rod seemed to bounce like a long hemlock bough in a gusting windstorm. He then swam midstream and jerked the rod heavy like a kid pulling on his dads shirt tail for attention. I had him swimming up crick as I kept the rod level with the surface water moving it upstream with him. He swam towards my side of the crick and I held the rod higher wanting him to head towards me. I took in line and got my net out. He turned and avoided the net with a daring quick turn towards midstream with a tail splash that threw water towards me. I moved the arced rod towards midstream and had to let tensioned line slip through my fingers again like he was heading for third base after tagging up on a deep fly ball to right field. He held up in the current and we were both at a standstill. I tried forcing him upstream again but he was too heavy and wouldn’t move. After a bit I felt him gradually swimming up crick again teasing me like a runner leading off third base towards home. I wasn’t sure what he was up to but I was conscious and ready for his next move.

  All of a sudden he sprinted upstream in full view like a runner sprinting for home on a squeeze play. I stripped in line quickly and had the rod high as he passed by me. The force on the bowed rod was too much and he was right up crick from me when he turned downstream. He was out at the plate as I tagged him in the net. The big guy scrambled in my net as I lifted him out of the water. His wet body colors were vibrant and shined under the noon day sun.

 

 After I let him go back to his dugout I took a couple of lasting puffs of my cigar like a coach after a world series winning game.

 

~doubletaper