Any really-into-it fly fisher reading this post will just groan. I laughed. I'm still chuckling as I type.We took an every-other-day approach to long hikes, so Wednesday, August 19, we agreed to 'fish from the campground' and try Slough Creek downstream. That afternoon was again somewhat blustery, making my inept skills even more pitiable. I'd wandered further downstream and out of sight of Glenn when he called me on the walkie-talkies. He'd found a pool in the Slough where big trout were feeding.
O.k., so I'm not an adept fisher, but I have strength in language arts. I've added new words and terms to my vocabulary.
Two techniques in fly fishing need some illumination. To 'stalk a fish' means that you don't stand stream side casting over and over again hoping something is in the area. Rather, you watch for feeding fish and wait to tempt and taunt them with your fly when they're in range. Another term is 'dabbing.' Trout will sometimes jump right out of the water to catch a bug in midair. Dabbing means you sort of 'dance' your fake bug along the water hoping to lure a fish from the depths.
Back to the story.
I wandered back to Glenn's area, slowly and carefully waded into the stream and did see, as he'd said, some beautiful trout cruising and fishing the pool near us. Again, a blustery sort of breeze would stir up making casting difficult. During these windy times, I'd hold off on casting because I just have not yet developed my skill under those conditions to have any kind of accuracy.
So now, anyone reading this journal entry, get the picture in your mind's eye.
I'm standing in thigh-deep water in Slough Creek. Fish are feeding in the area, but I'm trying to 'stalk' a little and not waste casts. Plus, it's blustery making it more difficult.
There I stand, left elbow on my hip, my 8 1/2 foot long fishing rod bobbing in my hand over my left shoulder, a slight breeze stirring, just waiting for my next opportunity. . . . WHEN! . . . out of the corner of my eye I can see my bright chartreuse strike indicator hurtling through the air about 12 inches above the water line headed downstream! What the . . .!!??? OH MY GOD!! I had inadvertently dabbed a trout!
That trout was no more surprised to find a fake bug in its mouth than I was to have it there!
My limited fly-fisher instincts did kick in, though. I managed to keep the rod tip up, adjust the drag, play and tire the fish and have Glenn help me land it! We figured the cutthroat was between 18-20" long, probably the biggest I've ever caught.
As I worked at landing it, I also realized that a small cadre of "real" fly fishers were watching from the banks. . . you know, guys with all of the stuff and paraphernalia of the sport. Even if they didn't know what they were doing either, they sure looked the part better than I! They stood and watched, and got an eye on a grand trout caught by this dopey looking gal in the stream.
What they didn't know. . . nor did Glenn until I confessed. . . I caught this magnificent fish. . . WHEN I WASN'T EVEN REALLY FISHING!
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