Brandon barely cut the engine before I jumped out of the truck and into my waders, I strung up lines and laces in no time.
“I’m gonna head upstream past the second flat, into that woodsy section away from the road. When I pick off a few fish up there, I might circle back around to the lower end,” I said to Brandon.
“K. Those are big plans.” he replied flatly.
Brandon spoke again, while staring at the water. “Dom, when fishing for stockies, sometimes it does not pay to be ambitious . . .”
And from somewhere subconscious, a part of me made the choice . . .
“I’m gonna stay on till dark,” I told Smith. “I tied on a dry-dropper, and I’ll cover the edges.”
I watched Smith walk toward home, toward the rest of life, into the lights, into the warmth, into the friendships. I stayed with the river and remained alone — pensive in the rain, resolute in the wind.
Guiding the flies is a blend of two skills called leading and tracking. At the core, this skill of guiding the flies is fishing the flies. And this is what anglers tend to focus on most — for good reason. It’s the longest in duration. It’s the most active, and has the most room for variation.
In truth, there are number of ways to dead drift nymphs through one seam. And the choices we make are about how much influence we want to have on the flies. A leading approach puts the angler in charge, and a tracking approach let’s the river dictate the course of the flies. Guiding the flies is an effort to mix the two . . .
Consider your fly size and weight. Know your tippet diameter. Understand the length, thickness and weight of your leader’s butt section. And learn to accurately judge the distance you are casting. All of these elements are intertwined. And advanced angling starts by being aware of the stats. Know your weights and measures . . .
By mixing jigging into our streamer presentations, we add a new dynamic. We no longer just slide and glide, cross currents and hover. Now we dip and rise, dive and climb through the column. It’s another dimension to be explored. Offer it to the trout, and let them decide.
You do not need a jig hook to jig streamers. Can you jig a big articulated fly? Absolutely. And while the up and down motion may not be as pronounced as a smaller, thinner, head-heavy fly, jigging works with big and bulky flies too.
Unlocking this knowledge — understanding the strike zone — and then finding it and drifting your flies there, is perhaps the most pivotal moment in your nymphing skills progression. It changes everything.
Most of what happens in a river occurs in the strike zone. It’s where the trout spent most of their time. It’s where the bugs and baitfish live. And understanding everything about the strike zone allows us to know exactly how and where we want to present the nymph . . .
It takes about five minutes to feel the flex of a rod and learn the breaking strength of our chosen tippet. And a simple experiment is all that’s needed. Once you’ve tested both the tippet and the rod’s strength, a new confidence follows. Then, when the fish of your dreams shows up, you are ready.
When you know the maximum pressure available from your fly rod and tippet , you can put more pressure on a trout and bring him in quickly . . .
Rolling the bottom, gliding mid-current along a knee-deep riffle and slow-sliding off the bank — these maneuvers are just as enticing and catch just as many trout as do flashy retrieves. But we tend to forget them. Or rather, we might not have the discipline to stay with an understated look for very long, because the modest stuff isn’t as exciting as the razzle-dazzle.
This handful of subtle moves requires an angler with restraint and commitment. Otherwise, the rod tip and line hand are back to big motions and brash, bold movements in no time . . .
Contact is visual. It’s about reading the sighter to know that we are in touch with the flies from rod tip to the nymph or split shot. It’s not about touching or ticking the riverbed. Instead, the contact we’re looking for is seen on the sighter.
With contact, we know everything about the depth and speed of our flies. We know where they are, and we determine where they are going. That’s the advantage of a tight line (contact) nymphing system . . .
I wasn’t quite sure why I’d asked the kid if he fished in the first place. But there was something about him that compelled me to share. And here I was, about to give up a guarded secret.
“Do you have a piece of paper back there?” I asked. “I’ll show you something . . .”
Lessons like these linger, and they have an impact. His was a message not to fear the winter, but to respect it, to venture forth but to prepare for the unexpected. Seek adventure, with provision as your companion.
Most of Dad’s lessons were ingrained that way. And, years later, when fishing became a life for me, I saw no reason why snowy roads or ice in the rod guides should keep me from fishing . . .