It's that time of the year when weather comes in and out and people have to decide to roll the dice and book a trip or wait for more predictable conditions. Let me just say, holding out is missing out. Seriously. Yesterday was the absolute most ridiculous fishing I've ever seen. Period. (It helps to have a good stick in the boat. Nice work Mary Kay!)
With the wind up, we elected not to go down low and instead, stay in the canyon. We had a slow start. In fact, in the first couple hours we could only muster up a few white fish and a couple small trout. The day before, we had a lot of success on the short nymph rig so we were committed to sticking with it as to not chase bobbers and 9 foot leaders around all day. It took a while for fish to look up but we were being patient--confident something was about to happen. At around 11:30, that something did.
Part of what is so great about what we do as guides, is seeing the transitions between the seasons and witnessing what that does for bugs, fish, and how that translates to providing lasting memories. I know that sounds a bit cheesy but it's true. A fishery like the Missouri is so incredibly dynamic and has the potential to go off at any moment. It can also be an ass kicker. When March browns come out like they did yesterday and you are fortunate enough to be out there witnessing it, you really get an appreciation for how truly special the Missouri River is.
Sticking with the game plan, Mary Kay and I slid the boat into a shallow channel and started seeing a few March browns popping. We were fishing scuds and small BWO nymphs. It was time for a change so we went big and the fishing got stupid. Every seam had a fish looking for March brown nymphs. And as the duns started showing themselves more and more, it would have appeared that every fish in the river started coming to the surface. It was amazing and something not everyone gets a chance to see. You know who did get to see it? Those folks willing to risk the weather to get out there and fish.
We worked our way down stream, short nymphing the banks and switching out rods to throw dries whenever we saw a good target sipping. We never really parked on fish. We just threw bugs at fish and if we screwed it up, we went on to the next one but the reality is, Mary Kay capitalized way more than she didn't and as we let the boat drift down, netting fish after fish, we were never really all that concerned that a missed opportunity would be the last. That's when you know the fishing has blown up.
Imagine this--floating along, casting to pockets and every time you hit your spot, you get rewarded. Every time. Then you see that fish sipping. He's just off a seam and he's content with the rhythm of easing up, gulping a bug, dropping down to swallow and then returning to the surface for another bite. He's like a metronome. Tick, tick, tick, gulp. Tick, tick, tick, gulp. On this particular brown trout, Mary Kay switches out rods and rips off about 30 feet of line. I hold the boat steady, not dropping anchor, just holding it for her as she takes a couple false casts and then sets her fly down a few feet upstream from this guy and feeds line out. One cast.
Slowly, hesitantly, he comes up. The rhythm has altered just a fraction of a second as he studies this imitation. The world stands still. It's in that moment, when you see him looking at your bug that fly fishing takes on all the mystique, all the uncertainty, all the myths and hyperbola of pretentious fly fishermen telling stories of success and failure. The heart beats faster and then stops for just a second as we wonder if our presentation is "good enough" knowing in the technical world of dry fly fishing on the Missouri, if you're asking that question, you've already answered it. Good enough is never good enough.
Mary Kay's presentation was perfect and although the brown hesitated for just that split second, he continued his rise and his mouth opened up. The imitation drifted in and his mouth closed on it and he descended back down to complete the measure.
Mary Kay also hesitated just enough before lifting the rod tip up. I was not so patient.
"Dope! Get 'em!" I half whispered, half yelled trying so hard to hold back as to not initiate the ripping of the fly out of this brown's mouth.
Mary Kay was perfect as she came tight on a truly gorgeous fish and a more gorgeous display of what fly fishing is all about. Impressive and something neither one of us is probably going to forget for a long time, if ever.
On a side note, the fish in the picture above let us ponder an interesting question from the day before. "Do geese have an impact on the fish?" Fish don't like when osprey or eagles fly over or pelicans swim overhead. What about geese?
I figured that somehow they know the difference. So yesterday we, were coming up on a seam where a couple geese were floating around getting in on the bug action when I suggested we test out the theory. Mary Kay chucked her short nymph rig in the seam, which sent the geese fleeing and within seconds, this 22 inch brown ate her bug. Definitive? You tell me.
Keep 'em where they live...
No comments:
Post a Comment