Deep Pool

This past year I’ve noticed something…Of all things to be aware of, I’ve noticed my attitude change, really. Small, subtle shifts that at times caught me off guard and other times I’ve embraced as an epiphany or just taken in stride. Growth or regression? Don’t answer that.

Let’s face it, the more you fish, the better you get—or should…I hope. Also, the thrill of the hunt versus getting off on beating up a pod of stockers that just got planted. Let’s all admit, we’ve found the fresh tracks of the hatchery truck and finished the day with a sore shoulder, permanent imprints in the river bottom, and an ego that couldn’t fit back in the truck for the ride home. This act gains experience and confidence, sure, but when you realize (hopefully) that it no longer satisfies and it’s time to move on, that’s growth.

When the act of doing something changes into an extension of self, that’s when you’ve crossed over. When all you operate on is instinct, that is the shift.

There was a time when any fish that would take my fly was a good fish, and the more I caught, the better I thought I was. Note here: never once have I thought of myself as a master of fly fishing. I’ve always thought of myself as a forever student. I learn something new every time I go, and I have been humbled, many, many times. I still think the harder the fishing, the better it is. I’ve come away skunked and learned more about how to improve than I have on a high fish count day.

Old bull vs. young bull, I guess. Now on to the gravy.

I got out early, working a tight canyon. The sun was just starting to peek over the eastern ridge, laying sunny patches on the bottom end of the pool. Caddis were starting to come off, and soon maybe at the top of the pool? Perfect time to find a rock to sit on and re-rig for dries. I ate a snack and observed a pair of water birds doing their morning business. I had no idea they actually swam or submerged completely to eat. It’s the simple things that intrigue me.

I used a larger green drake pattern as my point. Needed something I could see and follow, knowing my size 20 Adam’s would vanish between the foam and spotty sunlight. As the sun finally cast on the top of the pool, I saw the hatch grow. My cue to find the spot on the right side of the fast water and cast downstream for estimated line length and water load before a single cast to my targeted spot. I had picked out the obvious rise zone but knew it could vary a few feet back or to the right. Plenty of line for correction, and most importantly—not a single branch behind me, haha, to those who know.

I caught sight of a slurp and waited a few seconds to anticipate the next take.

It was all over in a few seconds. My Adam’s and Drake hit lightly to the right of the seam, and the wild brown was there without questioning my artificial. I got him to the side and back of the pool without much disturbance. Released within moments. This is where I paused before launching at my alternative spot. The pause came instinctively—I knew to rest the pool, even though we hadn’t thrashed it on the last take. Everybody calm down now, even me.

Checked my knots, inspected my flies, took a sip of water. Sun shining on a grove of aspens—fresh gold, electrifying. After that glance, spun around, shot my line to my second choice spot. Just like the first, confident snatch of my Adam’s, and seconds later, the brown was darting out of my net back to the feeding lane. Rigged up again and set out to find the next pool.

Two was enough. Could have left after just one, as I have many times before, but it was too good at the moment—calculations, fish, sunlight. Plenty of hatch left, plenty of sunlight. Didn’t feel I molested the pod enough to put them off. Winter is coming—fatten up, little browns. I’ll find you next time.

Continued up the river a few hours more. Lower water allowed me into spots I’d have to pass earlier in the season. A pool refused me at first. Adam’s to Wulff to Elk Hair Caddis before I felt I put them down. On the way out, later—he too took the Adam’s without hesitation. Couple-hour rest, right presentation—who could pass up a fresh fly on the first cast?

I really enjoy sight casting versus blind casting, who doesn’t? But alternative to sight, especially in this river, is knowing where fish may be holding. Nothing new—books on reading water cover it—and hopefully comes naturally with experience…hopefully.

On another river back in June, run-off was still persistent. Committed to a week, I went. Water high, had to work hard, but worth it. Fish were there, hungry. High water poses challenges locating fish, but slowing down, reading water, checking knots, dialing in—that’s the game.

Pausing, observing, anticipating, experience—somewhere in the last fifteen years, I gained knowledge. Experiencing, reading, asking questions brought me here. One fish out of the pool satisfies me—then ready for the next. More challenging presentation? Even better. This sport has many avenues to explore and satisfy. Each of us finds our comfort zone and explores.

I really don’t know why I fish. To an outsider, it’s a left-field idea. To a novice, a dream of location and trophy. To my wife—she doesn’t understand my passion, but respects what it does for me. Could go on about all the elements, but if you’ve read my other entries, you’ve probably heard it.

Maybe the act of fishing happens in a split second. But it takes a lifetime to reflect on it.

Fish on