Fishing Local Water With a Friend
We had made a few nice casts through the first couple of pools, but had no luck on the olive streamer pattern we had tied a couple nights before. This was our second consecutive day on the same stretch of water, and we decided to return because the fishing was so spectacular the day before.
It was Saturday that had been one of the best days of fishing I had had in a long time, and I was alongside my friend John who I met in Writing class at the beginning of the school year. We started talking fishing before class one day and became friends instantly, and before we knew it we were tying up developing streamer patterns in his dorm room together.
He had been to this spot only a couple of times before, and told me that it had potential to produce some large fish. I was excited, and at the same time a bit nervous. Fishing with a friend is great, but there is a small unspoken sense of competition between the two of you when you get on the water.
This was eliminated after the first couple of casts, when John pricked two fish on a streamer and I pricked a fish that waked so much water we believe it was larger than 20 inches, all in the same pool.
It was a cool morning, with the sun still rising over the Bridger Mountains and the dew dripping off of the brush hanging over the banks. Waders were essential to our kits, and we decided to only bring one heavier weight rod. I brought a 6 weight and John brought a 5 weight with a sinking line. We were going to throw streamers in an attempt to catch one or two large fish.
Turns out, we were wrong. We both caught upwards of 5 fish all pushing 16 and 17 inches, and Saturday was one of the best days of streamer fishing either of us had ever had.
We returned on Sunday to the same piece of water, but optimistic as to how the fish would react to the pressure. I have experienced this quite a bit this summer where you fish a stretch two or three days in a row, and on the fourth day nothing seems to be there. It could be because my technique or fly choice is off, but that is a never ending battle nonetheless.
We pull into the spot around 6:45 AM, an early start considering we were up to 11 PM or so the night before tying some more streamers. It is easy for me to lose track of time when tying flies when I enter a rhythm and like what I am creating. There is a lure to the act, and it subconsciously intrigues me every time I sit down at the vise.
This time, Sunday, we move through the first pieces of water quickly in an effort to fish new water. We reach a point in the stream where it is blocked by downed trees, and have to do some technical maneuvering to cross the stream. We reach the next bend, and keep fishing the banks hard with our streamer patterns.
I move upstream with John and make a few casts into a pool that does not look incredible fishy. If you spend time on the water, you know what I mean by “fishy”. The structure does not look too promising, the bank isn’t incredible undercut, and it is more shallow than other holes where we have found larger fish.
On my third cast, a large brown trout moved from the undercut bank and casually inhaled my size 4 Sculpzilla pattern. I set the hook, and the fish was on. He was a strong fish, and bringing him to hand was incredible. To be with a friend and be able to admire such a beautiful creature was special; a moment neither of us will forget for a long time.
We move through the next couple of runs, but the early morning is starting to catch up ti us and our hunger soon overwhelms our desire for fishing. Besides, we had already hooked into 5 fish over 16 inches, and felt that putting more pressure wouldn’t be the best.
John threw a couple of casts in the last pool before we pulled off of the water, and plucked a large brown, maybe 17 inches and colorful, from a pool the size of a large swimming pool. With some photos snapped and the fish released, we fist-bumped and decided it was time for some donuts.
On our way back to campus, we relived the morning. Our smiles grew after every story we replayed in our minds, and the stoke was uncontrollable. It is hard when you find a spot like this to not tell even your close friends, but both John and I knew that this stretch of water was something else.