The Distracted Small Stream Fly Fisherman (or, How To Spend Your Day Tugging on Branches)

Normally, it doesn’t take long to settle into a fly fishing groove.

You set foot in moving water, your vision goes a little dark around the edges, and… it happens.

You’re just fly fishing.

Life recedes.

Blotting out everyday noise is one of The Big Attractions of fly fishing, but things don’t always work like they do in fruity, overwrought fly fishing essays.

The little stimulator scores again

Like my latest trip to Stream Y.

I fished well enough at first, and caught a handful of nice brown trout right off the bat, but never really fell into the groove.

It’s the downside of fishing in the grip of distractions – work, a lack of sleep, and even some Underground-related stuff (suggesting that blogging about fly fishing doesn’t always add to the experience).

The L&T says there are times my mind simply won’t turn off, which explains the bouts of insomnia, a tendency to work odd hours, and an astounding ability to sulk (I’m a world-class sulker if given the chance).

Pay Attention

Small stream fly fishing requires a certain amount of 360-degree awareness – especially in what you’d have to call a “snag-rich environment.”

Willows, pines, brush and a staggering amount of deadfall clutter Stream X – to the point there’s almost always something lurking behind you.

When I’m fishing the Upper Sac’s fall BWO hatches – making 30′-60′ casts to spooky trout – I can live with a certain amount of tunnel vision. The only impediments to making the cast are the cast itself and spooky trout – not a fly eating, velcro-needled pine tree.

Fish with that same narrowed focus on Stream X, and you’ll spend most of your time reaching for flies wrapped around branches – which are always two inches higher than you are.

It’s not as if I got fed up and broke my fly rod over my knee. I fished a wonderful 8′ Steffen 5wt that doesn’t get nearly the use it should, and in any case, I’m not a rod-breaker.

Attention to detail is everything on small streams, and I lacked it is all.

Life intrudes, and the sun passes overhead. Fini.

The Gritty Details

I thought I might not make it to Stream Y due to residual snow, but I had it wrong; the snow was gone, and I basically drove right up to the stream.

That sentence lacks the drama normally provided by outdoor writers, but there it is.

I just drove there.

At least I’d timed the wildflowers right.

And then I noticed the stream was very high. Out of its banks even.

Pretty and all, but the stream's about 4x it's usual width.

Still clear. And still fishable. But it demanded a few adaptations.

Instead of the silky-smooth Diamondglass 8′ 5wt, I went for the backup 8′ 5wt Steffen glass rod, which is a bit stronger in the butt section and a little faster in the taper department.

A faster rod is nice when it’s windy (it was), and handy for lifting fly line off fast-moving water before it gets sucked into a snag or sweeper (which happened anyway).

The 8' Steffen glass rod was (wait for it)... the perfect choice. Too many fly rods?? Never.

I was also planning to wet wade (in nylon pants), but the high water – and flooded marshy areas – convinced me to throw on waders.

I don’t know about you, but hiking through syrupy, wet knee-deep marshy stuff creeps me out.

Later – when I stepped into a a solid-looking piece of earth and sank in up to my crotch, I was very happy I’d gone with waders.

The fishing itself wasn’t demanding, though a few surprises stick with me.

First, the bite got worse as the day progressed.

That’s counter to my normal small stream experience, and suggests the water level was changing more rapidly than I thought.

Given that huge swaths of dry land were clearly under water just a day or two ago, I’d say the water was falling fast – and the fish were adjusting to it by not eating my flies.

Bastards.

I hooked ten, landed eight, and missed a handful of others.

Like my previous trips to another small brown trout stream, I noticed a lack of little fish. All but one fish was 8″ or bigger, which was gratifying, but not exactly normal.

I’m falling back on the idea that three years of drought have kept brown trout populations in check, allowing the remaining specimens to grow a little bigger.

Frankly, we’ll know if I’m blowing smoke next year – after this fall’s spawn.

The mosquito population definitely hadn’t suffered the last couple years, and while it wasn’t as horrifying as last year’s trip with Singlebarbed, it did force a few concessions.

Like dressing like a colorblind ninja:

Looks silly, works great (no bites!)

More information is coming about the “bargain buff-style” neck gaiter/headwrap, which is definitely the way to go when the mosquitoes are turning you into a quivering, irritated fly fisherman.

I’m not a big fan of Deet (it eats fly lines and bamboo fly rod finishes, so tell me why I’m smearing it on my body again).

Fortunately, you run into few people on small streams (and almost no one you know), though I did speak to an oldtimer who’d been camping around Stream X since 1965.

He told the usual story: the fish were bigger when the people were scarcer, but interestingly, he also said the cattle that had hammered the stream by late summer weren’t supposed to be anywhere near the stream.

Convenient for somebody’s cows, but less enthralling for fly fisherman. I’m going to keep tabs on that situation this year.

After all, we’ve got plenty of cows, but damned few cool little trout streams.

See you on the stream (looking like a colorblind Ninja), Tom Chandler

We'll leave you with a little small stream zen