I have a fishing report to log. As Troutbitten turned ten a few weeks ago, I revisited some history within the archives of this website. Nostalgia crept in pretty quickly, and the simple fishing reports were one of the things I promised myself to bring back. So here’s one. No video, no podcast. Just an account of the fishing (and some other things), with the usual musings about why and how I could be better.

Fever Dreams

Fast water and jagged slate stalled my climb down the steep ravine. I dared to lean forward, and my wading boots slipped. I caught myself on a thin hemlock trunk, one that had grown at the odd, familiar angle seen against these bankside hills that are near vertical. I didn’t belong here. I could see no way down, so I reversed course and climbed back to the top.

Minutes later, I reached the upper ledge to find it covered in ice. Repeated attempts to pull myself over the top had me precariously slipping, until I dropped my fly rod but somehow grasped it mid-air before it fell into the ravine below. The scene felt surreal.

I edged my way back down the ravine and around to the left this time, hoping to find a clear way below and make it to the river. No luck.

Down and up. Up and down. I repeated the process for hours, until I awoke.

The Family Flu

I don’t know how long I was in that dream, but I remember it well. And waking from it granted me the first relief from the worst thirty-six hours I can remember. You know how it is with a fever. You’re resigned to the suffering. And the worst comes near the beginning. Once you’re through it, and the big fever finally breaks, whatever comes in the following days seems eminently more bearable — almost welcome — because of what you’ve already been through.

Three days before Christmas, our family started down the tortured path of sharing the flu. Aiden first, then me, then Joe and finally Becky. All Christmas plans were cancelled, and we entered survival mode.

We’re all on the upswing now, but no one feels normal. Yesterday, I promised myself I’d get back to the river, and today I followed through. With a low grade fever of just over a hundred, I didn’t feel too bad. The dog needed some time outside as much as I did, so I left the house at 2:00 in the afternoon and planned to fish until dusk

Riverdog

This Time / Last Time

With limited hours, I stayed local. I can drive to one of the world’s best trout streams in just a few minutes, so it’s a frequent choice.

A few days ago, I published a video about fishing this river earlier in the month. Conditions were the same — the lowest I’ve seen this creek in three decades of fishing it, with a ton of green algae and plants on the riverbed that haven’t been kicked away since sometime last spring.

The creek is l-o-w. And trout are spooky. It’s also an enjoyable challenge, because there’s no doubt the trout are there. And with no real hatches going on, tactics and fly selection are narrowed to a handful of nymphs and streamers.

VIDEO: Troutbitten | Fish and Film — Tough Winter Fishing

When you watch that video, you’ll see how the day was a rightful struggle. Nothing came easy, and within a few hours of fishing, just a half dozen trout had come to the net.

. . .

I was in the midst of a coughing spell and trying to load the 4Runner with the last few fishing necessities when a text from Anthony came in.  The first time I guided Anthony we hit it off pretty well. He had that balance of humility, confidence and skepticism that it takes to fish around here long term. Anthony has done a few day-trips from Philly since then, and the weather and conditions had brought different challenges every time we’d fished together.

Here was Anthony’s text:

Hey Dom, I just watched the latest Fish and Film. I guess you don’t need me telling you how to fish, but those super low conditions reminded me of the early fall trip we took, also with a messy bottom to deal with. You said you’d fish it with dry flies, but I wanted to work on my nymphing, and I specifically remember you telling me to stay off the bottom, just aim for the middle, because in twelve inches of water, mid-column is low enough anyway. Remember that?

I stared at the phone until the next coughing fit changed my focus. But after loading up River (my Aussie) and turning the key, I thought about Anthony’s message while I drove five minutes and four miles, eventually settling the truck’s tires two-hundred yards upstream of where I’d shot that video.

After I buckled my wading belt, I texted Anthony back.

Good idea, man. I’m gonna try that right now.

Most days I leave the truck with the mindset to let the fish decide, to be prepared for anything, with an open mind and a willingness to change.

But with limited hours for fishing, simplicity seemed prudent. The timing of Anthony’s message also had an impact.

Fishing With A Fever

Nothing heavier than fifteen centigrams.That was my thought on the walk in.

I was also reminded quickly that my body and brain had no tolerance for becoming overheated on the walk in, just as much as it wouldn’t put up with being cold once I stepped in the water.

Fifteen centigrams. In my box, that’s a #16 or #18 fly with a 2.5 mm bead. I knew I would mix in some 2 mm beads as well. No split shot. Just one thing attached to the line — a weighted fly. Simple and clean. l also limited myself to three patterns — a Slush Egg, a Pheasant Tail and a Walt’s. You don’t need to be creative at this time of year.

I spooked five trout as I waded into my first section. And it was good to see them spread out in various water types. I was there to target some of the deeper parts that offered trout adequate protection against predators, like . . . me.

The sickness kept my motions slow. My stubbornness kept the process methodical. Stay behind the fish. Target the A water. Keep moving, but do it slowly. And stay OFF the bottom.

I settled into a fishing rhythm about fifteen minutes in, and that’s when I caught my first trout. He turned on an egg as it slid out of view on the far side of a midstream rock. I’m sure the trout was as surprised as I was.

More trout followed quickly. And by the end of the first section, I made the only change that I’d decided I might allow myself — I swapped leaders.

The Standard Mono Rig had done the work. I’d been fishing casts that were pushing thirty feet at times, as I tried to stay back. And with such light weight, there’s no counterbalance against the influence of the leader. That’s only a problem if the cast is long enough to put the angle created by the rod and leader at greater than ninety degrees. (More on that HERE.) Even that’s not a problem if you have good turnover and a fly-first entry with a shallow tuck cast and then lay the sighter down. Floating the sighter for just a few feet keeps the leader’s influence off the fly. Then you can pick up the sighter and fish out the rest once you’re within the ninety degree angle.

VIDEO: Troutbitten | Floating the Sighter

That’s all great stuff, and it’s how I usually approach things when fishing the lightest flies and setups. However, with ultra low and clear water, I couldn’t help feeling like floating the sighter might actually be spooking fish.

I clipped off my tippet section at the ring of my Standard, I tied the Micro leader to the tippet ring and then reattached the same tippet section to the end of the Micro. Change one thing, not many. This is the only fair way to test things. Control the variables. I had a fly with a tippet that was producing well. And I simply changed the leader build

The fishing rhythm continued and trout responded in kind. I can’t say the fishing got better, but it surely didn’t get worse. The Micro leader gave me three to five feet of extra sagless reach to the fly — just enough so I didn’t need to float the sighter. I also had more contact and control over the drift by keeping the full leader out of the water from the beginning to the end of the drift. So I picked up less green, as I could hover the fly mid-to-low column, effectively.

The consequence? On the longest casts I needed to water haul behind me. This water-loading style of cast is often glossed over with a Micro rig, but it’s important to me. I dislike the water haul. It slows me down, requires looking backward too often, limits casting angles and robs even the best caster of some accuracy. But it gets the job done. And fishing a 2 mm bead without any power in the leader to punch it around absolutely requires the adjustment of a water haul.

The leader and the strategy worked well. So an hour later, with dwindling energy in my body that cycled from hot to cold, I returned to the Standard leader. Nearing the top of the last section, to the left of a small island, the water was fast enough that I could easily fish within twenty to twenty-five feet. Now, floating the sighter was unnecessary, and I enjoyed (almost) the same drifts as I did with the Micro. What was missing? The feel. While I’m surely not the biggest fan of a micro leader for all its deficiencies, it has its specialties too, and my favorite of that limited set is feel. While strike detection on a tight line should always be visual, there’s something very satisfying about feeling the bite through that skinny monofilament at the same time as the sighter jumps with subtlety.

I caught nineteen trout in two hours of river time. I bring that up only as a comparison to the three hours with six fish in the video. Same river levels. (Worse actually.) Same flies, but just a little lighter. The biggest difference was the target zone. To Anthony’s point, by staying off the bottom, I had a better rhythm. I covered the water more effectively and didn’t blow so many opportunities by pulling up little green weeds in front of the fish I was trying to catch.

Would the same method have worked the other day? That’s the real question, right? I’ll say maybe. Fifty/fifty. There’s a very good chance that it would have. But I’ve fished the winter months for decades, and successful nymphing usually requires a slow ride that is very low — the lowest of the year. That inevitably comes with some bottom contact, which is where the trouble began the other day.

But this afternoon, my nymphing rides were not extra slow. They weren’t even all that low. Perhaps the trout were just uncharacteristically generous today. Maybe fate took pity on the only fisherman out there — one with a low grade fever and limited energy to adapt much.

It was probably the latter. But I know exactly what I’m doing tomorrow . . .

Fish hard, friends.

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Enjoy the day.
Domenick Swentosky
T R O U T B I T T E N
domenick@troutbitten.com