Fly Fishing

A fishing report usually isn’t written when you’ve got a couple pints of adrenaline coursing through your system, but here I am at my desk, barely able to keep from jumping up and pacing the house. First things first – the fishing was OK. Not the hatch I experienced last week and not nearly as many fish, but enough to keep it interesting. We even hit a small spinner fall towards the end of the evening, though it only accounted for a couple of my fish (note to self: tie more #14 mustard spinners).

It’s a pretty river. No matter what happens on it.

It was a pleasant evening made more so by the dark grey thundercloud scudding by to the south. I was fishing in sunshine while the thunder rolled on and on, which is a different enough experience that you’d pretty much have to enjoy the novelty of it.

I scored one fish on an ant (one of the Upper Sac’s real sleeper patterns) and a couple on a parachute Beetle Bug. Then two friends showed up, and after a while, I saw two sizes of yellow/cream mayflies on the water, and because I had a good stock of #16s in the right color, decided the fish clearly preferred that size bug over the other.

At one point, I made a tough cast under an overhanging brush, and for the third time in three trips, briefly hooked a very nice fish. I know where he lives so you’d think the odds would tilt in my favor (just like you’d think at some point the hook would stick), but… NOT. Final tally didn’t quite reach double-digits, and it seemed like it was my night to make good casts, hook fish for exactly 1.8 seconds, and let ‘em off. (And yes, I checked the point a couple times.)

OK. I went to bed and slept on it before starting this part…

It’s never fun to ruin a fishing trip for any reason, or to let someone else do it for you. But the world is populated by more than rivers and trout, and some of that population clearly possesses a few demons. Three of us were fishing a stretch of river that can’t really accommodate any more than that, even assuming they were buddies. So the guy who got into the river 20′ below Mike was pushing it a lot more than a little bit, but mostly you glare and turn around and keep fishing, hoping that’s the last you’ll see of him. I’m glad I wasn’t in Mike’s shoes.

Sadly, this interloper was of the more aggressive variety; some words were exchanged while fishing, and after the fishing was done he started his running commentary in the parking lot. In retrospect, I’m guessing he was looking for trouble, and had picked out one person in our group in the hopes of getting it. At some point it was entirely unclear as to whether things were going to get physical, but it ended with a lot of adrenaline and some inane comments from our new friend about this being “my spot.” Ahh. His spot.

It’s easy to look back and suggest those confrontations aren’t worth it – and the next day they aren’t, given the possibility of someone pulling a gun in defense of “their” spot – but it’s also a startling way to end an evening spent fly fishing, something I’d say I do because it pushes the everday world farther away.

In truth, the “everyday world” can seek you out even on the river, and sometimes the “everyday world” is composed of people who – it turns out – treat fishing as yet another conduit for getting pissed off at the world.

Today’s Underground Entertainment? Naw, I want to hear from you folks…

OK, I’m not so much in the mood for entertainment today, so let’s just skip it. Let’s make it Open Thread Day on the Underground. Any stories to share about unhappy human interactions on the river? And please, no “that’s why I carry my .357″ threads. I’m only willing to devote one day to this cranky stuff, and then it’s time to get back to the fun side of the sport… See you on the river, Tom Chandler