I’m dumbfounded by the logic. Every time I stare at one of these signs from the Pennsylvania Fish and Boat Commission, I struggle to make sense of it. I well know the reasons given for the signs and the policy itself, but it’s the wrong choice. The signs read: This...
I meet a lot of anglers who used to fish. Some of them were die hard, passionate and persistent, often for many years or even decades. But somehow and in some way they gave it up. Maybe fishing was pushed aside for other interests or responsibilities, or maybe they...
“Once a stocked trout is in the river for a while, it becomes just like a wild one.” I hear this idea a lot. Anglers of all experience levels have levied this argument, likely from the time stocked fish were first planted in a river. It’s the premise that stocked...
A good angler is smooth on the river. Snags and line snarls happen, but how do you deal with them? Inevitably, we all stick the dry fly in a tree during the spinner fall. Or a small trout takes our upper nymph and jumps like crazy. With quick spunky spurts, the point...
I’m consistently surprised by the lack of river sense that’s missing in so many anglers. I mean that literally and not condescendingly. Just as a city kid marvels at the sight of deep darkness on a moonless night, fifty miles deep into a state forest, the country boy doesn’t give it a second thought. It’s experience. And that’s all it is.
People who are new to fishing just don’t know much about rivers. And I never really get used to that. Because so much of what a river does, and what fish do in response, is organic to me. I grew up fishing and playing in small streams. As a kid, I was drawn to every runoff ditch within walking or biking distance. I couldn’t stay away. And like anything else, you grow into your surroundings. I don’t think that can be changed, whether we’d like it to be or not.
Anyway, those without that same history with rivers see the water differently, and sometimes I have trouble remembering it.
On a cool April morning, Sam and I hit the water with all his new gear . . .
** Note: This February 2016 story is revised and revisited here today. Sawyer skidded the truck sideways a little and pulled the e-brake as we lurched to a stop in the fly shop parking lot. He looked at me and grinned. "Be right back," he yelled, and he jogged up the...
Sure, looking around once in while and studying the river will improve your catch rate; you’ll build knowledge about a trout stream by just watching, there’s no doubt. But breathing deep and relaxing into the beauty of a trout stream (and they’re all beautiful) is good for the soul too.
On rare days, we find good fishing with very little work, and trout come to hand easily. Most days, it’s a challenge out there, and we have to think about what’s going wrong or what we might do better. What can we change or adjust? In tough times, we can give up and walk home, or we can observe and ask questions. One of the best questions to ask is . . . Am I as close as I can be? . . .
Of the good fishermen I know, one thing I see in all of them is how easily they can reach conclusions about fish habits. They have a knack for knowing what to trust and when to trust it.
The damned thing about a river is that it changes every day, and the habits of trout follow. If you’re observant enough to see the dynamics of a river, you can predict how the fish will respond, just by correlating their behavior patterns with the changes in water level, clarity, food availability, etc. Often, though, that’s a big leap to take. And it requires trusting in your observations enough to act decisively on them . . .
Finding these angles becomes intuitive. Without thinking much about it, I usually set myself up with the sun behind or to my side, avoiding the surface glare of direct light. As I fish upstream I might work left bank to right, moving perpendicular across the stream flow until I reach the right bank. Then I quickly wade left again, back to the left bank, to start over on the next line — like a classic Underwood typewriter printing out one sentence at a time, just to see into the water, see my fly or watch my sighter . . .