Last night, a five hour orchestra of lightning cracks, thunderous bass, and dropping rain timpani played a fine concert for us all up north. When I woke this morning, I could only think of two things: the creeks would be high and the fish would be enjoying the buffet of extra insects that were rushing overhead.
I loaded the car with two fly rods, a backpack full of fly boxes and coffee making paraphernalia, my wife and my son then we were on the road towards not the nearest creek nor the furthest creek but a creek nonetheless.
The hike was about a mile to our fishing destination and from the get go you could hear the creek rushing through the dense forest of redcedar, grand fir, and doug fir. The air, cool and humid, felt nourishing after the few weeks of the beating, truculent heat that we have had so far this July. We made our way to a comfy little spot at the base of the first pool, a pool pounded by falling waters over rock and boulders creating a foamy base and a quick current through the middle. To the right was a slower run of water down a flume of carved granite wrapping around like a theme park water slide that shot current leftward in front of the rocks before it joined the main flow. To the left was a quiet, rested spot with downed trees, shadows from overhanging cedar branches, and a stillness where trout could be hiding. All in all, the pool was extremely fishy and anywhere I laid a fly would most likely produce a trout.
After a cup of coffee, I loaded up my leader with a new piece of 5x tippet and at the end, a new fly to me: the Hudson Caddis. Made to imitate the Mother’s Day Caddis hatch, a very moth-like caddis with a fuzzy brown dubbing body, brown synthetic wings that come off like a parachute-esque fly would have, and another lighter brown layer of those wings on top of that for visibility. I had coated it with floatant earlier that morning for longevity as I knew the water would be fast. Before I cast it out, I spread the lower wings a bit to imitate a caddis fly with, well, its wings out.
The first cast went over to the slow part of the pool at the left between a downed tree half-submerged in the gin-clear water and the rock wall holding the pool in place and after a five second period, an aggressive rise hit my fly and I set the hook.
Too early.
I cast immediately back to the same spot, and instantly I was on. The fish fought hard as I kept it away from wrapping around the downed tree and led it over to the current that rushed down towards my feet. Into my net went a beautiful 10” brook trout, fat with the excess food that had been pushed into the pool over the night. I looked back at Rachel and, out of character for myself, I hooted. It is not that I have had a lack of fish in the net this year, nor was it a large fish that required a short hoot. But this fish felt special. It could have been the beautiful setting, the smell of a forest after a hard rain, the two cups of coffee I had pounded before putting my feet into the water. Or it could have just been that I had caught a gorgeous brook trout while surrounded by my two favorite people on the planet.
I craved more.
I waded in towards the middle of the pool and caught a few hungry cutthroat trout out of the fast water, 7-10”, and decided now was the time to hit the run going against the back wall.
I delicately placed the caddis at the start of the run and the water erupted around it. I didn’t see a fish, but I also didn’t see my fly. I set the hook and I was on.
The fish was bigger. The fish was a fighter. Another brook trout, I thought as my 4 weight bent down and I played the fish left and right until three minutes later it was in my net.
Not a brook trout, but a large westslope cutthroat: my favorite trout. I measured it at nearly 15”, its belly large and its color flourishing in its greenish-brown upper body, light par markings and many black dots, faded red-orange belly and vibrant orange slit under its jaw. By far, it was the healthiest and alluring cutthroat I have caught this year.
It is always a joy–and a surprise–to find a large trout in a small crick. I have talked with many people, and I have been one of these people before, who ask why such a large trout could be found in such small water. Well, the answer is pretty obvious.
Small streams such as this hold large trout since the waters of said stream can be idyllic for their growth and survival. The first factor is obvious as there is much less fishing pressure in the creeks. Many people in this county want to take their spinning rods and their Rooster Tails and catch fish to take home, and they can do that easily enough in the Kootenai or for stockers in the many accessible lakes. (Side note: I highly suggest not harvesting any fish from the creeks in our county. I love that there is a healthy population, and much of that population will make their exit into the bigger rivers in the county. Fish them there.) There are creeks up here that I swear the fish haven’t seen a hook ever in their lives. There is abundant food as aquatic insects slowly roll down the creeks. The creeks are engorged with submerged logs, overhanging vegetation, and deep undercut banks providing cover from predators.
At this point, Olaf was getting antsy to move on and my wife felt the same way. On our way back to the car, she said that she wanted to catch a trout. I would never say no to that, and I would especially never say no to spending more time on a stream. We loaded the car back up with our gear and our child and we made our way up north to another stream.
When we arrived, I left the 4 weight the way it was and rigged up my 3 weight fiberglass rod as an indicator dropper for a little red wire midge fly I had tied two winters ago. This creek is notorious for catching small rainbows on a dry fly, but in the high and fast waters, some bigger ‘bows tend to hide and I did not want her first trout on a fly rod to be a little dink. The area we fished was tight, so I gave her a crash course in roll casting and within a few casts, she could get it to where it needed to be. She missed a few strikes as the indicator started to sink but she was getting the hang of things. Olaf decided he wanted to try to catch one so off up the creek we went with the 4 weight.
We did a few tight casts to quick small water until the inevitable boredom struck the toddler. We made our way back to Rachel and right when the indicator was in view, I was yelling out “Set!” She had the fish on and the fiberglass rod bent to the cork and made a run downstream. Rachel, inexperienced as she was in the fly rod, started to try and use the reel to pull the fish in. “No, no. Strip, strip, strip,” I said to her and she started pulling line in until I waded into my calves and netted the 9” rainbow for her, a gorgeous fish with a deep red band down its body. She was elated, I was elated, Olaf just wanted to hold it. I told him he could hold the next one as this was mom’s fish, and it was hers to quickly hold before releasing it back into the cold waters of the creek. And while she needs a bit of work on how to properly hold a trout, her smile was priceless.
The moral of this story is to take a fly rod out with your family, fish the creeks, drink some coffee, enjoy the voices of your loved ones under the boughs of beautiful western redcedar, have a creekside lunch, catch a fish and let it go. Just get out there and have fun.
My family is beginning to share my love of fly fishing. Aping off Norman Maclean’s famous quote: Eventually, all things merge into one, and a stream runs through it.
Tight lines out there, friends.