A Story by J. Chandler Hall, July Contest Winner
I grew up bass fishing with a spin caster. My dad's super serious and I
learned a good deal from him. When I was a teenager I asked for a fly rod
and learned out to cast it, but not how to fish it. Two summers ago, my
best friend from high school got into fly fishing and got me hooked again
even though it's been 20 years since I last picked up a fly rod. His name
is Hunter. Most of my fly fishing that summer was for bream and bass
(large and smallmouth) using popping bugs. The following summer, we
decided to go camping at a small trout stream in northern Ga. and I was
hooked.
The next spring, we planned a long camping trip for the Hiwassee. (It's
in eastern Tenn.) Not having access to "on the job training", I read
numerous books to learn different techniques. I was already used to the
basics of reading the water, spotting feeding fish, etc. and my casting
was pretty good at around 40 feet.
We set up camp the first evening and had just waded into the river near
our campsite. It was a long featureless pool. I remember asking Hunter,
"how will we know when one of these hatches come off?". We didn't see any
rising fish and decided for the first evening we would just sit by the
river, drink some beer, and watch. We weren't there for more than 20
minutes and all of a sudden the air was filled with what looked like a
bunch of tiny moths. Turns out they were caddis. We quickly dashed back
and pulled on our waders, boots, etc. and waded in to do battle. Luckily,
I had read enough to understand I should attempt to match these moths and
by chance used an Elk Hair Caddis. I must have pulled in 15-20 rainbows
(all around 8-10") in that last hour before dark. That was my first
experience catching trout on a dry fly. It was quite a high.
Retiring to camp, the beer flowed freely with the expectation of bigger
fish further upstream. We just knew it was only a matter of finding some
really good looking water and waiting for a hatch. We spent most of the
morning and afterîoon using streamers in the main currents. I probably
caught another dozen or so small ones. It was still very exciting, but we
were getting a little antsy about catching a nice size fish. We were
starting to spot larger trout as we waded around and I began noting the
similar situations where they were seen. We spent that first day and the
next just scopeing out the river. That evening, Charlie, the local good
'ol boy that runs the campsite, dropped by. I mentioned the huge trout we
had seen rising below an area called the "stair steps". Charlie told us,
"heck, you oughta use a Ra-pal-a. Just wait till you see one of them thar
monsters and cast that rapala right over him. Just reel as hard as you
can and you might hook 'em in the back. Hang on, cus they really fight
when ya hook em that way". That settled it, if the monsters were there,
that's where we'd fish. Finally, our plans were set. Unfortunately, we
hadn't brought any rapala's with us, so we were going to have to do this
the hard way. Nor did we have any waterproof .357's or access to
dynamite. Never mind though, we were certain we'd best these silly fish
without scales. Hell, I've caught monster bass on a texas rig in a 30
foot hole. How hard could catching fish be when you can spot them?
Early the third morning we set out. We hiked down a trail toward a
section called the stair steps. The name is very appropriate as there
were numerous ridges of slanted rock that ran across the 100 yard wide
river at that point. These ridges generally ran in a line, spaced about 4
feet apart, and dropped in height about eight feet over that ~200 yard
section of the river. When the river is up, the white water across each
ridge makes the water look like stair steps leading into a final 1 foot
drop off into a large pool. One of the tricky things about these ridges
was that these rocks were like 5" wide planks that point upstream at
about 45 degree angles. You tended to wade along these ridges, but a
misstep usually dropped you into a chest high hole between the ridges. I
felt like an Olympic gymnast on the balance beam, but my dismounts ended
up with ice cold water collecting in my waders. When the water was down,
it would flow at perpendicular directions to the streambed in between
these ridges.
When we got to the stair steps that morning, there wasn't a soul around.
The water was down and there weren't any hatches or rising fish. I
started off stripping a streamer down in the depths of those holes
between the ridges, letting it tumble occasionally with the streamflow. I
managed to catch the biggest trout so far, about 13-14". I was pumped. I
was slowly working my way upstream, watching the river currents, now that
I knew what to look for. I had my polarized "Strike King" glasses
on--endorsed by Bill Dance himself. I figured trout wouldn't know whether
my glasses were endorsed by a Bass aficionado or that guy "Lefty"
anyway.
My plan was to look for a spot where two or three of these "perpendicular
water flows" ran together in a slower pool before dropping over a ridge
and running back the other way. I had noticed (and read) that big fish
often sit at the tail end of a pool like this. Near the bank, about
halfway up the stair steps, I spotted a likely candidate. Now, I began
stalking up to it, keeping low to the water's edge, slipping over the
ridges like a snake and always keeping an eye out on the current. I had
already caught on to the problem of casting into flowing water 90 degrees
across and having different speed flows between me and the fly. I picked
my first likely spot. I decided to try casting a wet fly down and
across--partly because of the approach I had made and partly because I
knew I hadn't yet gotten the feel for reading a drag-free drift by just
watching the water. As I got into position, I thought I saw a flash of
silver. The tail end of the pool was just partly in shade. I watched
longer. I'd read that most fishermen don't watch enough and don't
approach with enough care. My research was already paying off! Sure
enough another flash. This time I could tell he was just slowly flicking
his tail enough to keep him right in the spot where these three little
flows came together, flowed right over him, narrowed down and went over
the next ridge. Exactly what I had read about and noticed earlier that
week. This trout had my name on it.
Almost breathless, I cast out my line and let it swing right in front of
his nose before twitching it back up stream. Nothing. Had I scared it? I
kept watching. No, I saw that lazy, random pattern of a tail keeping him
in place and another flash of silver. Good. I tried it again. Still no
luck. OK, he wasn't interested in this fly. Time for something else. I
decided to get a little closer and try some type of tiny dry fly, maybe a
caddis. I had to get in a different position to fish it and I was worried
that I'd spook it. I practically imitated a submarine staying mostly in
the water and barely sliding over those ridges. Now, I could really see
him. I figured he had to be almost as long as my arm, maybe over 21"! I
began to watch his movements. He would hang in the water for a few
seconds then flick his tail lazily, which would shift him over just under
the fastest part of the flow, there was were he must have been collecting
his dinner. Then he'd almost immediately return to his position just to
the upstream side (away from me) of the flow. He'd repeat this pattern
every 10 seconds or so. I lightly flicked out my dry fly and miraculously
managed to land it perfectly in the flow of the stream about four feet in
front. It appeared to drift drag free and right at him. I saw him come
into position (oh the gods were with me that morning), and...nothing.
Back into position. Hmmm. Well he showed interest and I didn't spook him.
So I tried again. Another miracle cast. Again he appeared to show
interest, moved right under it but nothing. Hmmm. I was distraught. Maybe
I could get back to the car and purchase a rapala? No, I wasn't beat yet.
I figured he wasn't taking dry's, so how about a nymph. I tied one on and
drifted it right past him. He didn't take it, but he continued his
feeding pattern with little change.
As I hung my head in despair, I noticed right next to my hand was a large
boulder sticking out of the pool I was hiding in. On this boulder were
some large bright yellow insects. Ahhhh! I recognized this as a stonefly
and I even had one fly almost the same size (it was just slightly
bigger). I could already feel the weight of this trout on my rod. As I
was tying on the stone fly nymph I began determining how I would bring
this monster in since that small pool wouldn't give me much room to play
him. Finally, the battle was ready to begin. I moved toward the bank he
was near so I could attempt to dead float it at him. I knew I couldn't
get behind him, but I did my best to make certain that weren't any flows
between his pool and my base of operation. In adjusting my casting
position, I was now within 25 feet of him. Risky, I knew, but so far he
hadn't been spooked.
I knew the gods were still with me when I managed 3 almost perfect casts
to that trout. Not only did he not take it, he just seemed to ignore it.
I was ready to cry, just watching this trout, with not a care to the
world, lazily flicking his tail back and forth in his heavenly little
pool.
I'd had it. Maybe these fish were smarter than I thought. Obviously
another trip to the book store was in order. Maybe even a video tape or
two. Well, I was at least determined to get a good look at this monster.
After all I'd spent almost 30 minutes, 4 patterns, and lots of sore
muscle sight casting to it just like all my reading had taught me. I was
perplexed. I rose up and had a much better angle. He should have easily
spotted me and shot into the depths of that pool, but he just kept lazily
swimming. I didn't spend a lot of effort stalking up to him, but I did
move slow and catlike. I can still picture the flash of white as I saw
him in his full glory head to tail. He had to be the prettiest, longest
piece of white cloth hung on a stick in that river! The stick was lodged
in between the rocks and the cloth had gotten hung on the tip, just a few
inches under the water's surface. The current was causing both the cloth
and the stick to create what looked exactly like a large trout, lazily
swimming in the tail of the pool. I realized ol' Charlie was right after
all. A good rapala thrown right over it's back was the only way to bring
in this monster.