My habit of catch-and-release trout fishing has long been a head scratcher for non-fishing friends. The point, they tell me, is to catch dinner. Then they give me a you’re-nuts look and ask, why then, do I stand in the river all day?
The reason is that fly fishing is my Zen. It’s my yoga. On those days the fish have lockjaw it can be madly infuriating, but still fly fishing is my recreational drug of choice. I like watching the water, watching fish. I live to unlock the mystery of what they’re eating and exploiting this puzzle to catch a trout, then maybe another.
It’s my bliss.
I was in that state as I continued my spring emerger project on a nearby lake. Again, there was an evening hatch prolific enough to interest large trout. The wind was up, however, and the chop made the rings of rising trout less obvious, but they were there.
I went small, a No. 20 PMD emerger. I was immediately into a fish. A hot one. The trout made successive runs of 10 to 20 yards out in the lake. Maybe a half dozen. I got a little self-conscious. One of the tenants of ethical catch-and-release fishing is to play the fish quickly, get it into the net, unhook it, revive it and let it go. All done fast, fast, fast.
Clichés like “reel-screaming runs” make for classic, campy outdoor writing, but if you overplay a trout you can render it un-revivable. The fish don’t always give you the option of a quick catch, however, as it was with this rainbow.
Eventually the fish tired. Then I got a surprise as I brought it close to net. Trailing from the corner of its jaw was a 3-inch-long white streamer.
I netted the fish and kept it in the water as much as possible. I pulled my camera and took a couple of quick shots of the trout with the White Zonker in its jaw, and as I unhooked it, my tiny fly, barely a 1/4-inch long, popped out as well. I steadied the fish — watching as it pumped water through its gills — then it scooted back out into the lake.
Spend much time trout fishing and you’re likely to catch a fish with a leftover lure in its mouth. Nothing too remarkable about that. There was, however, the fairly dramatic difference in the size of the flies, but I didn’t give it much thought. Trout do have varied diets.
I fished a bit more, catching another, but grew weary of fighting the wind. Time to retire to the pub. As I walked to my truck, I ran into a young guy who’d been fishing with friends. They’d been at the lake all day, but hadn’t had much luck. I showed him my fly and told him small stuff had been working best as those rising trout were feasting on midges.
He commented on the fly and said they’d been using bigger dries, and even bigger streamers. His buddy, he said, hooked into a nice fish that morning, but after it ran him around for a bit it broke off.
“What fly was he using?” I asked.
“A White Zonker.”
Ha!
We walked over to show his pal. Sure enough it was his lost fly. I gave it back and we chatted for a bit.
At the pub, I pondered that fish and its dietary decisions. It went big in the morning, got stung, had a tussle, then recovered enough to return to feeding that evening on the tiniest of insects.
It also had two strenuous workouts that day, surviving one, and since I barely had it out of the water, likely the second.
Dinner arrived a moment later, along with beer No. 2. And all the fish were swimming.
Aah, bliss.