It’s typical for me to wander around in a daze, my brain wholly occupied by a single thought (and my body trying to keep me alive in its absence). When it happens on the river, the results are predictably bad, but tonight was the exception.
Instead of the furnace-like heat we’ve been suffering, Friday was cloudy, cool and even drizzly at times. When you’re gifted a day like that in the middle of a heat wave, you finish your work, hide from your responsiblities, and run for the river.
Fly fishing the Upper Sac means a steady diet of rainbows. Last night, I got a pair of nice browns…
I bolted out the door about 5:15, heading for some dry fly water high on the river – an area where cold air often pours down the canyon. While I fished, alternating pockets of warm and cold air rolled over me, and at times I enjoyed the singular experience of having my right half chilled and my left half warmed. The respiration of the river.
I’d struggled all day with some writing, and my brain was still struggling with it as I strung up a rod, tied on a #16 PED parachute, and then watched my very first drift end in a take. Normally, that’s my cue to do nothing but stand there, slack-jawed with disbelief, but this time I confounded expectation; I lifted the rod, and hooked up to a 10″ rainbow.
Maybe what everyone says is true: I should try thinking less.
Twenty minutes later I’d landed two more when I spotted a subtle rise against the far bank – two current tongues and a long roll cast away. On the second try the fly fell to the water, drifted for six inches, and then just disappeared. Not quite believing anything had happened, I lifted the rod and was fast to a 14″ rainbow. Hallelujah.
Lotsa fish. Few bugs.
I wasn’t surprised by the beauty of the fish, but I was surprised by how easily they were coming. There were few bugs and only sporadic rises. This, I suppose, was a make-good for all those times when the fish were working like crazy and I ended up with a pair of dinks.
If fished for a while, bank-sat for a while, and then – around 7:45 – traded the now-ignored PED for a dark, reddish-brown parachute. This was an act of pure bravado – I’d seen exactly one reddish bug – but it worked. A few quieter riseforms were starting to appear right against cover, and to me, those mean better fish.
My first presentation was under an overhanging branch against the far bank. Amazingly, the cast was right on the money, and the fish was a 15″ rainbow. My next presentation was an easier cast, and he was a 14″ rainbow. Third up was a 12″ rainbow. Three casts – in descending order of difficulty. And three fish – in descending order of size. Makes sense, eh?
Fly fishing the Upper Sac isn’t always about the fish.
My hands were stinging from the cold water, so I took a couple minutes, warmed them, and started working a little higher in the run. My next fish looked “funny” when he rose. A minute later I found out why – he was a 12″ brown trout, something of a rarity on this river (see pic above).
Pretty but a little washed out compared to the neon browns I’d caught in Tennessee (the TN browns were covered in bright red spots; this guy only sported a few), I put him back and caught his bigger brother on the next cast. This one was 15″ and prettier, though he wriggled away before I got a portrait.
Three more rainbows fell in quick succession before I lost my parachute fly to a 13″ rainbow who broke it off at my feet (another “always check your tippet after a fish” moment). I reached for my fly box, and hesitated.
The L&T Nancy had been having a long, long week, and I was standing on the river having more fun than the current administration would consider legal. It’s rare that I’d call it quits at 8:20, but in truth, I’d gotten all the gifts I needed for one night, and the day you have to empty the pool to have a good time on the water is the day you should probably take up competitive bass fishing.
I walked away, went home, kissed my wife, and – just to prove I’m capable of cooking beyond the slaw dog – whipped up a honey-mustard shrimp stir fry over spinach pasta.
I hope everyone else had a similarly perfect evening. Tell us if you did. Or even if you didn’t. Or maybe even if you’re planning to… See you in heaven, Tom Chandler
To prove the point, while I struggled to land a handful of fish, an Osprey flew by, hovered briefly, crashed into the water, and struggled aloft with a trout in his grasp.
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