Change of Plans

I was third in line. In front of me was a black SUV. Leading the procession was a slow moving construction vehicle towing a trailer. It was frustrating. I hadn’t been on the water in seven weeks and was really looking forward to finally getting out. I knew exactly where I wanted to go and had been thinking about particular runs and pools nonstop for days. As I got closer to my destination the anticipation kept building. But now, some idiot travelling at granny speed was hindering my arrival. At the turn off the truck continued straight. But, the SUV quickly swerved onto the dirt road and took off. I immediately got a sinking feeling in my stomach. I don’t know why, but somehow I knew he was going to my spot. It was another 15 miles down various dirt roads to the small parking area at the trailhead. We would travel along several miles of fishable roadside water, pass several small residential/camp-like subdivisions, and bypass several side roads leading to other wild trout streams in the area. There were plenty of opportunities for him to pull over and fish the more easily accessible water, or perhaps turn onto another road, but it never happened. As we drew closer to the trailhead, and the opportunities for him to head elsewhere diminished, the sick feeling in my stomach worsened. I was riding his tail as we pulled into the small parking area.

I quickly got out of my truck and went to introduce myself to the person that would be fishing the same area as I, and to find out what his plan was. This is public water and everyone has equal access to it. I had plenty of time to mull over my options during the past 15 miles. I would work around this person’s game plan. I could either hike in a little further, or maybe hike downstream and check out some new water. Maybe I would even go to one of the other streams in the area that I have wanted to fish, but never took the time to do so. This might be the perfect occasion to do that.

He didn’t have a specific agenda. He was just going to hike to the water and start fishing. He had only been in there once before so he hadn’t grown attached to the place like I had. When he asked me if I had ever been in there before I responded in the same manner as any other avid fisherman would have. I lied. “Once or twice”.

“How’d you do?” he asked.

I lied again. “Just okay.”

He asked what my plan was and without revealing anything I told him that I wanted to make sure I didn’t get in his way. I wanted to give him plenty of space. After all, solitude is one of the reasons why we bypassed several miles of roadside water to get to a place like this. He said not to worry about that. Then he said, “Hey, if you want, we can fish together.”

I stammered as I tried to come up with an excuse to get out of such an arrangement. I must have sounded like a bumbling idiot. “Well, I wouldn’t want to get in your way… or ruin your water… or cramp your style… I’m not really sure how fishing in tandem works since I haven’t done it much… I only brought lunch for myself… my wife says I don’t play well with others… I like to stay in there ‘til dark... it gets dark around here at night you know… you know, there are bears in there… and ticks… and caddis… no, not caddis…”. Then, all of a sudden, for some reason - like a light bulb turning on in my head, I changed my mind. It occurred to me that this could be fun – something different. I might even learn something by observing someone else in action. “Sure, let’s do it” I replied.

“Great!”

Well, we hiked in and spent the day fishing together. We stepped into the creek at the same spot where I usually start. I recommended that he begin with a dry-dropper combo. I let the other guy have the first couple of runs. He was a pretty good caster, but after fishing through the second run, and having a few missed strikes, but no hookups, he developed a tangle that involved retying the setup. He offered up the water and I took my turn. On the first run I caught an 11 or 12 inch stocker brookie. I had written a trip report back in December about catching a stocker brookie on this creek. This was the exact same run and it looked to be the same size. I suspect it was the same fish. It looked like he had settled in and found a permanent home alongside the wild rainbows and browns.

Well we each caught a few fish as we took turns working our way upstream.
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We eventually came to a place that I refer to as Frustration Hole. I have written about it in prior trip reports. It’s a large pool that holds some big fish. The problem is getting into position without alarming them and getting them to bite. Another problem is keeping them on the hook. I have lost a lot of nice fish here. I told the guy that the best way to fish this pool is with a heavy nymph and indicator, but I was feeling lazy and didn’t want to re-rig just for this one spot, only to re-rig again as we continued upstream. He said he would do it, but insisted that I fish it with the dry-dropper first while he tied on a nymph. After four or five casts, my dry went under. I lifted and saw a flash beneath the surface as a 12+ inch fish turned sideways in the current and took off. The fight only lasted seven or eight seconds before we parted ways. In the heat of the moment, the expletives rolled off my tongue – probably not the best choice of words to use in front of someone I barely knew. Oops!

“Did you see that fish?” I asked.

“No, but by the way your rod was bent I knew it had to be pretty nice,” he replied.

“That’s why I call this place Frustration Hole. Your turn.”

I sat down as the other guy worked the deeper water. After a few casts his indicator went under. We saw the flash of another 12+ inch fish. Unfortunately, it was another short battle before fish and angler parted ways. “Frustration Hole. That’s a good name for this place,” was his response. After that we didn’t have any more strikes so we continued on.

Frustration Hole:
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Along the way, conversation revealed that we lived less than ten miles apart, both had kids in college, and recently celebrated our 25th wedding anniversary. We also discussed other secret places we like to fish. And we caught some fish too. Overall, the guy was a pretty good fisherman. He could cast, mend, make a fine presentation, and he practiced stealth. But, along the way, I was able to point out a few places he was going to pass by without making a presentation.

“See that wedge between the two rocks?”

“Where?”

“There, where the fast water rushes along the face of those rocks. There is a small, triangular shaped pocket of calm water in that crevice. “

“That small spot right there?”

“Yeah, drift your fly along the edge of it.”

“Okay.”

Wham!
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“See where that side current deflects off of that rock over there?”

“Yeah.”

“There’s a slight undercut along the face of it – along the bottom. Cast about three above it and let your flies follow the current into it and downstream. That’s a good place for a fish to hold.”

“Okay.”

Wham!
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As I stated previously, this guy was already a decent fisherman without my help. He mentioned several times that he appreciated my ability to read water and the advice I offered. He said he would have passed by a lot of those inconspicuous spots and that he had caught some fish he wouldn’t have caught otherwise. I’m just glad the fish cooperated. I too learned a thing or two by quietly observing his approach and presentation. He also recommended a tactic or two for a couple of stretches of water that I mentioned I usually struggled with. The truth is, we can all learn something new about this sport every time we head out. In the end, it turned out to be a pretty good day for both of us.
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Back at the trailhead we exchanged contact info. I suspect we’ll fish together again someday.