After spending Thanksgiving Day at Tom's, where the number of pies outnumbered the number of adults (pumpkin - 6, apple - 2, banana cream - 3, pecan - 2, blackberry - 1), we finalized plans for our perennial Black Fishday celebration, a calmer (and colder) alternative to the consumer driven, post-holiday madness. Given that the morning temps would be in the teens, we agreed to meet at "the ditch" around 10 am when the temps would be approaching freezing (from the wrong side). Joining us would be our nephew-in-law, Brad, a relatively new addition to the ranks of fly-fishing, and my friend Kirk, to whom I need to be nicer now that he has a fishing boat...
The late start proved to be a wise choice. Although the sun was shining brightly and the temp was up to 27°F when we arrived, the north wind had not yet calmed down and it was bitterly cold. Having rigged up the night before, and knowing that Tom would never wait for me, I was off to get the first casts into the water. Although we had fished here a couple times before with some success, the visits had been short, at the end of a day of fishing somewhere else. Today we were planning to explore a little more of this little ditch to see what we could find, and what we found made for a pretty exceptional day.
I started with a black conehead leech under an indicator, a setup that has worked well for us in the past in this type of water. After just a few casts into the first run, I saw a huge silver flash, but not a bump on my indicator. With clear water and the aborted take being straight across the small stream from me, it was easy to judge it as a fish in the 20+ inch range. But no amount of effort or change in flies could entice it to approach the fly again. The others had joined me by that time, and Tom broke his chironomid dropper off on a hit a little higher in the same run I was fishing.
After that promising start, the fishing was as cold as the wind through the next few runs. Some beautiful water, but no signs of fish. Finally, about a half-mile up from our starting point, I had a solid take down and hooked and fought a nice fish for some time before it came off. That was the start of a mile of fishing that rivals our best days at Nunya, a day set apart not by the numbers, but by the size of the fish.
Tom and Brad had moved upstream, where Tom had found five fish swinging a black leech, the largest being a healthy 18 inches.
I dropped in behind Tom and found another, probably in the 15 to 16 inch range, that got off as I was getting ready to net it. Tom continued upstream, where he found several more, including two over 20 inches (and it appears because of their size, Tom momentarily lost his mind and thought they were steelhead from our days fishing in BC when we pulled fish up on the bank and bonked them).
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| I almost didn't post this to save Tom the embarrassment of showing he was fishing with an Okuma reel, usually reserved for fishing cheapskates like me |
Kirk got into the action in the same run, finding another thick, colorful rainbow.
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| That will bring a smile to any fisherman's face |
I moved upstream to the next likely run, ditched the indicator, and promptly lost my fly as a large, silver shape rolled and broke my fly off before I could even react. I tied on another, and a few casts later my swing stopped and I could feel a solid fish. I set the hook and a dark, colorful rainbow erupted fully out of the water a short distance downstream. After a good fight, a solid, 21-inch rainbow made it into my net.
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| Fat, 21-inch rainbow |
Continuing upstream, we came upon Kirk, who had found some fish rising to BWOs in a run, and was now trying to entice one up to his small dry. I told Tom we had made his day, as there is nothing he like more than fishing small dries to big fish. It will keep him entertained for hours. We watched for a bit and mocked him (all in good fun) as he missed a couple rises to his fly, then continued up to see what we else we could find. I had another solid fish on that I never saw, and we found a couple small ones, before turning around to head back to the car. We watched as Kirk landed his fifth fish from the same run. He had finally got a 13-inch on the dry, then switched to swinging black and picked up four more, including the 20-plus inch fish we saw him catch.
Although the sun was getting low, the day was not quite done yet. Tom and I stopped at the run where I had hooked my first fish of the day. My first toss into the current was almost immediately stopped by healthy fish that fought hard in the current. Tom tossed in a little further downstream, and promptly hooked a similarly sized fish. Brad caught up with us just as I was netting my fish, which I held in the net until Tom landed his so Brad could take a picture of the double. Perfect timing!
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| Twin, 21-inch rainbows |
Brad, who is relatively new to fly fishing and had only indicator fished before, had had some solid tugs on the swing, but had yet to get a fish to hand. So we moved upstream to the run where Tom had caught five, to see if he could find one there. We watched and coached from the bank above, jeered when he missed a strike and cheered when he got the hook into one. It might not have been the size of some of the others we caught that day, but it was his first caught on the swing, a skill that will serve him well as he continues his development as a fly-fisher.
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| The smile of success |
I found one more small one, and Kirk landed another beast right where we had started the day, a fitting way to end one of the best Black Fishdays ever.
Between us we logged ten fish over twenty inches in a mile and a half of stream, the kind of day that is unlikely to happen again, at least until next year's Black Fishday...
