I just read a short
write-up about the World Fly Fishing Championships over at PAFlyFish.com, and was interested to note that for a tournament held in Scotland, the native Scots, fishing their home waters, were bested by both the Brits and the French. It got me to thinking about the whole notion of "home waters" and how it might or might not matter in the taking of fish on any given day. Sure, you get to know the subtlelities of each riffle and pool, as well as how the fish tend to respond in certain circumstances. If you're really into it, you may know of specific insects that hatch there and the little things you can do at the tying bench to better match them. But on any single day (or series of days, as evinced by the Championships here), what determines whether this day will be a learning experience, or a day to reap the benefits of past learning days (of few fish)?
Also, it makes me realize just how much a "good day" is a relative thing, even in terms of catching, with all notions of "getting out of the office" and "reconnecting with nature" as side benefits. When I go to one of the two trout streams I hit most often (I feel I'm still too new into fly fishing to have true "home waters"), a true good day in terms of catching usually sees me land at least 2-3 trout, depending onhow long I stay out. For me, its not about catching huge numbers of trout, but catching, for me, certainly is a part of it.
Now that I'm starting to use dries, I'm missing a lot more strikes...or maybe I'm missing the same amount of strikes, but now I just notice it. Either way, each refusal and missed strike, at this point, is as encouraging as it is frustrating. On one hand, yes, I've failed to connect with yet another fish, failed to put it all together with a good cast, drag free drift, line mends, slack management, hookset, etc. Somewhere along the line, I failed to get things just right and the result was a fish that didn't come to the net. On the other hand, each refusal and missed take is an encouragement to me, because it shows me I've at least got something right. A refusal usually means that presentation, the approach, cast, and drift, were satisfactory, acceptable if not great, but the fly itself was objectionable to the fish in some way. A missed take means, usually, that either I was allowing too much slack, or wasn't paying attention. Either way, it shows I'm slowly but surely learning.
But getting back to the tournament...why is it that the fish have a knack for putting us in our place? (Apparently, for the Scots, that place is third place.) I've heard it said, simply, that, "The fish are always right." And I believe that describes the tournament situation better than any analysis anyone could give. For whatever reason, the fish liked the offerings of the other fishermen better than those of the Scots. Its the same reason a fish will ignore, or even dodge away from, the lovingly rendered flawless imitation of the most prolific nymph in the stream, only to rise to a #12 royal wulff or clamp onto a hot pink wooly bugger. Its why fish consistently confound scientist and anglers alike who preach that each time a trout feeds, its a careful calculation, balancing calorie intake versus calorie burn...until they start ignoring the plentiful nymphs and charging across the stream and leaping into the air for emergers. It's why, on any given day, the rank amateur has a truly plausible chance at showing up the seasoned vet. Why, although we can get damn good at this, noone's yet mastered it. And ultimately, the quest to hook a few more is what hooks us in return, and keeps us coming back for more.
Though a bottle of fine scotch whisky and those two ladies in the plaid skirts make a pretty good incentive too..
For a fly fisherman...that's a good thing!
Like I said earlier, I've been getting into fishing dries. After Jerry and I fished the Little Mahoning on Saturday, we met up again on the Loyalhanna, the closest thing I have to a "home water". No the fishing isnt always spectacular, but unless the trout are getting overpressured by the flocks of weekend anglers, I can usually manage to pull one or two in a full evening of fishing. Sunday was a nice day, and the fish were surfacing all around us...unfortunately, it was to something small and difficult to imitate.
Jerry was getting some attention with beetles and nymphs, while I was only getting limited glances at my dry and wet offerings. It was one of those afternoons where you burn through more tippet by switching flies than tangles, fish, or wear and tear. Finally, I managed to convince a fish, a 14" rainbow, on a #18 Griffith's gnat. I was pleased to have caught a fish on such a small fly, especially aftercutting my teeth in fly fishing on #8 buggers. At the same time, Jerry pulled in a fish lower in the pool, for a double hookup on an otherwise slow, but beautiful day.
We fished for a few hours with little further success...a few bites and rises, but no major activity...and after a while, Jerry headed up to his van and returned with his 3 wt. Diamondglass rod. I'd asked about the Diamondglass line before, so he made sure to bring it along for me to try out with the Cortland Sylk line he's got it rigged with. As we traded rods, me accepting the Diamondglass in return for my 3 wt Avid, Jerry advised me to take my time and slow it down, as the rod was considerably slower than most. He had a very light 7X tippet on, so I decided to stick with my MO of the afternoon and tied on another #18 Griffith's Gnat. I worked some of the mustard colored Sylk line out of the tip top then threw it into my first loop on the rod.
As was to be expected, I was a little quick on the draw, and the first loop collapsed ineffectively, running out of 'oomph' well short of turnover. Lifting the line again, I false cast a few times to get the hang of the action, finding it was definitely slower than my Avid, though not by a vast margin. Within a few more practice casts, I was throwing tight, delicate loops in the thin line, across the modest distance to the rising trout in the feeding lane.
Jerry seemed to discover this at about the same time, remarking that the "Moderate-Fast" descriptor didnt really describe the Avid exactly, and that he felt it was closer to a Moderate. For his part, Jerry had tied on one of his beetles, which seemed to excite the trout in front of him, as he had several risers come to the beetle as I got to know the Diamondglass.
As I fished with it, I found it to be a pleasant little rod that forced you to slow your cast down before you could appreciate its exceptional smoothness. My Avid is certainly more crisp, and seems to communicate better what it's doing during the cast, while the Diamondglass is seamlessly smooth and delicate, loading and unloading with an unmistakeable feel that manages to be definite and tangible but also silky smooth and inseperable at the same time, with load transitioning into unload without any distinct point at which it hapens. In short: while I like my St. Croix for its precision, versatility, and the way it "talks to me in plain language", I like the Diamondglass for its delicacy, smoothness, and the way it almost seemed to cast itself. The Avid is certainly the more useful rod for me, but, with enough space to cast and maneuver, that Diamondglass was a true delight to cast, and if I ever see one at a price my budget can justify, it'll be near-impossible to pass it up. I was casting Jerry's 3 wt. 7'-0", but I'd probably go for the 8'-0" 4 wt. to better round out my quiver.
As we fished, Jerry remarked a few times that he really wanted me to catch one on the glass rod, just as I wanted him to get a fish on the end of the Avid. While he eventually got a few bites on his beetle, I drifted that Griffiths gnat again and again, with only casual interest from the otherwise active, feeding trout.
Suddenly, though, with little flash, one trout decided it was time, and firmly attached himself to the fly with a quick rise and sip and the fight was on! The first thing I noticed was that the soft rod made a good hookset a whole new issue, as a flick of the wrist was just as likely to simply flex the rod as it was to actually drive the hook home. Lucky for me, the trout had taken care of that, lodging the #18 hook firmly in the corner of its jaw. As the healthy 12" brown ran and leapt, I was grinning from ear to ear, enjoying the grace with which the rod came alive with a fish on the line. Just as Jerry had described it, the rod "danced" as I fought the fish, eventually pulling it within range of my net. A quick scoop, and the fight was over. I freed the brown and was back to fishing quickly, but the memory of the fish on the line will be one that will make it hard for me to pass up a deal on a nice, light glass rod.
Eventually, it was time for Jerry to head out, so we bot made the walk back to the parking area, where we traded rods back and Jerry changed out of waders. For my part, I slipped my Avid into the passenger seat of my car, and, waders still on, I headed for Mill Creek. Fishing had been slow here on the 'hanna, and I didn't expect much out of the smaller creek to the north, but I wasn't done fishing, and I figured that Mill creek would be less crowded, even if it was slow.
Little did I know, that while I would indeed have my chosen section of mill creek all to myself, the fishing would be anything but slow...
