Yesterday’s fly fishing trip was a complete success; I didn’t wreck the Bronco miles from any help, didn’t get eaten by a deer, and celebrated Halloween by masquerading as a nymph fisherman.

The treat for the trick of driving up to a remote stream? I landed exactly one 9″ brown trout and missed two others, suggesting little M did a lot better on Halloween than I did.

Beasley Bamboo fly rod (50DF)

Still, I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t feeling a little ground down by the past couple weeks, and with more of the same in store for the next two weeks, the smart move is to declare victory, which is closer to the truth than you might imagine.

Fly fishing your way up a small valley bordered by steep bluffs – while fog and small rainstorms roll in one after another – is not the kind of experience you dismiss because the fishing was poor.

Foggy day

Clouds, fog and rain all day long...

In fact, it was pretty damned spectacular.

At one point – while I was sitting on a downed tree and wondering about my next move – a doe wandered by only a few feet away (she was screened by some brush).

While I marveled at her lack of awareness, only later did I realize that I’d almost completely missed her too.

So much for man as predator.

That’s not a proud moment; I was fishing in a part of the world where cracking noises behind you shouldn’t necessarily send you into a panic, but they probably are worth a glance, if only to determine how big the bear was that ate you.

We go all artsy on your with... tree fungus?

We go all artsy on your with... tree fungus?

Proving that I can be trained, later in the day I heard an odd rustling noise like a grocery being carried to the car.

I glanced up, and less than 30′ above me flew a mature bald eagle (a real big mature bald eagle). He was working his way upstream and probably wasn’t expecting me any more than I was expecting him.

Apex predator to the core, he pretty much ignored me, though the same isn’t true for me; seeing an eagle that close in the wild is the kind of experience that should suck the breath right out of you, and as if on cue, that’s exactly what happened to me.

Only a few grabs from trout?

Big deal.

Overcast and grey all day.

Overcast and gray all day.

The fishing itself was slow, and the first half of the day it was nonexistent, as if the Forest Service people had wandered in the week before, netted all the fish, and moved them to their winter holding tank where they’d stay until next spring.

Later – after I’d exhausted the dry fly box – I actually tied a weighted PT nymph behind a stimulator (basically an indicator with a hook). That delivered one of my three grabs, though due to sizable quantities of underwater wood debris – which you couldn’t see due to the gray sheen on the water – I got tired of losing nymphs (once on three successive runs) and ditched the dropper, especially after the only trout I landed ate the stimulator.

It did occur to me that brown trout spawn in the fall, but I didn’t see a single redd, nor could I even spook any fish when I’d sneak up to a good-looking hole and suddenly stand up, expecting to see them bolting for cover.

Perhaps they’d migrated up or downstream to better habitat. Or they weren’t hungry. Or aliens had taken them. Or (insert any of the other inventive excuses fired up by fly fishermen).

The Bamboo Fly Rod Part Of The Report

Lately I’ve been dragging out a couple of bamboo fly rods I haven’t fished in a while due to niggling little issues.

One of my favorites is a beautiful James Beasley version of a Leonard 50DF; a fairly slow 8′ 5wt taper that neatly encapsulates what’s become known as an eastern “dry fly” action.

James Beasley 50DF (8' 5wt) bamboo fly rod

A James Beasley 50DF (8' 5wt) bamboo fly rod

This is not a rod designed to hammer out casts all day long from a drift boat (or into the wind), but if you can resist the urge to drive the rod and let it do the work instead, you’ll pretty quickly arrive at a kind of fly casting state of grace.

At least I do, proving only that fly rods are personal things.

The Trout Underground all wet...

Rainy, cold, wet... perfect soft shell weather...

After all, half my readers would cast this rod and frown, wondering if I’d gotten a head start on California’s marijuana legalization initiative, but this is simply proof that one size doesn’t fit all – at least when it comes to fly rods.

And on that earthshaking disclosure, I’m off to grind it out for a while.

See you on a small stream (eventually), Tom Chandler.

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